Without You (The Tears Dry)
by precious-passenger
Summary: Sam makes an unexpected discovery about Dean. Maybe he didn't know Dean as well as he thought he did. Warning for depressing, suicidal thoughts. Set in mid-season eight, so spoilers up until then. No slash. Beta: fallingangelsandstars.
1. Chapter 1: The Ground Thaws

A/N: The idea for this story popped into my head completely out of blue. It's my first Supernatural multi chapter so I'm a little bit so much nervous about it and would appreciate a lot if you let me know what you think of it.

The inspiration for writing this comes from the amazing story, "13 Reasons why".

Special thanks to _fallingangelsandstars _for reading over this chapter.

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Sam has always seen Dean carrying his precious Walkman with him everywhere they went. It was a beaten up old yellow and black thing that had once acted as an unfortunate victim for Dean's practices on making the perfect EMF meter.

Now all that it was good for was making a faint buzzing sound around restless spirits, listening to Metallica and recording tapes, which was only useful when they were undercover as FBI agents. It was also the only thing that he didn't let Sam go anywhere near, or, god forbid, touch. Same thing applied to the tapes that accompanied it, and their numbers increased over the years.

Sam would admit that he too had some stuff that he'd forbidden Dean to ever come near, like his journal. Dean teased him enough and Sam wanted to confide his thoughts and feeling to something, without feeling judged. Although, he prevented Dean from reading his precious 'diary', as Dean took to calling it, it was more because he didn't want to be ridiculed for acting 'girly' while Sam was sure that Dean kept him away from his stupid music player just to trigger some unknown nosy little brother feeling in Sam. Well it wasn't going to work, no sir.

For years, Sam has accepted that the Walkman was off limits and he'd been fine with it, really. His brother was allowed to keep some things from him. And anyway, it was just a little thing that he saw appear every once in a while, and then it got buried in Dean's duffel bag again in no time. But, when Dean started nesting in the bunker, the Walkman and some unlabeled tapes around it occupied a special place in the top shelf. That was when it became a slow torture.

So, it was only rational that he'd look its way more often or glance at it every time he entered Dean's room. But, he wouldn't give in to the temptation of invading his brother's privacy. He was just curious.

That day, Dean had gone on a grocery trip after finding out that the Men of the Letters had a huge oven in one of the dungeons. 'Do you know how many pies I can bake in this monster at the same time?' he'd told Sam weren't fooled into thinking that the former residents of this foxhole had the oven for something even resembling baking a pie, but it was nice to pretend their lives were normal every once in a while. Sam had decided to stay back while Dean headed out. His brother was a real pain in the ass to shop with and he wouldn't listen to all the nutrition facts Sam told him.

But, staying back in the bunker also meant that an hour later, Sam was getting bored out of his mind. It wasn't the same with Dean here. He had someone to share the huge space with, but now the silence was driving Sam crazy. It was making it impossible for him to concentrate on the book he had chosen to read that day.

The Men of Letters certainly didn't bother getting any more technology in there than was absolutely necessary, much less a decent source of entertainment. Sam was getting this close to pulling his phone out and start playing some childish game or follow Dean's advice and go watch something interesting or funny on the internet. A cat video, maybe? Although Dean was obviously suggesting porn but Sam decided to ignore that little tidbit.

A guilty thought began gnawing at a dark corner of his mind. He could use Dean's rare absence to get in his room and maybe, just maybe, listen to one of those tapes that seemed to matter to him so much.

Dean didn't even have to know.I'll make sure to make it look exactly like it was before.

He headed to Dean's room, unable to contain himself any longer.

Just one tape.

He'd had so many theories on what the contents would be. A secret mixed tape from a lover was Sam's best guess. That would explain the forlorn look on Dean's face every time Sam caught him with the headphones on.

He carefully picked up the Walkman and chose the first tape, which upon taking out found it had been marked 'One', and sat on Dean's bed. Sam didn't know why, but suddenly a memory flashed in his mind. Many years ago, he'd faced a similar dilemma- choosing to discover the truth or invading the privacy of his loved ones. But in the end, curiosity had gotten the better of him and he'd decided to read John's journal. That had led to him finding out all about the monsters.

He sat up again and grabbed Dean's headphones from his desk, a worn out, beaten object that was almost as old as the Walkman itself, littered with glue, with wires wrapped around it. He chose to use the earphones instead of playing the tape out loud in case Dean decided to come home early. It made him feel disgusted with himself, going behind his brother's back like this. But, he was almost there. He was this close to finding out the mystery of the hidden tapes that he'd seen but never been allowed to touch, ever since he was a kid.

He popped the headphones on and before he could change his mind, he pressed play.

At first it was complete silence. It took a few moments and some wheezing sounds that made Sam shake the player angrily. Then he heard his brother's voice, sounding so many years younger.

_"Hello, this is Dean…Dean Winchester. And today, I'm going to tell you all of the reasons that made me give up. I don't know if you're Dad, Sammy or just some random person. But, I wanted to let somebody know why I'm not there with you, fighting monsters and kicking ass. It's my last wish. They have that, dead people, don't they?"_

The tape fell silent and Sam realized he'd just hit the pause button. He'd thrown the Walkman on the bed and flinched away from it, as if it had bitten him.

_What the hell was that?_

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A/N: What do you think? Should I continue?


	2. Chapter 2: The Rain Falls

A/N: Wow, guys. I'm blown away by all the response I got for chapter one. You're awesome. Thank you so much. Your positive feedback gave me the motivation to write the next chapter so much earlier than I had planned. Well, I hope you enjoy this.

Special thanks to _fallingangelsandstars _for reading over this chapter.

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Sam stared at the Walkman. All these years he'd been wondering what could possibly be so important to his brother that would force him to keep it out of Sam's sight. Now he knew. This was Dean's suicide letter. It all made sense, the sudden shift in Dean's mood every time Sam saw him with that old music player, the secrecy.

Sam wondered what he should do now that he knew. Should he put the Walkman back where he found it and never talk about it? No, that was more Dean's way. Don't talk about it. Bury it in the deepest part of yourself. Don't feel until it all comes bubbling over. Even then, push it down. Push it all down until you begin cracking under the pressure. Sam didn't know how Dean managed to do that. But he was about to find out.

Sam pressed play before he could chicken out, deciding to take the coward's route and pretend he never knew about any of these.

_"Today is when Sammy turns nine years and six months old. Funny, his birthday isn't something Dad usually celebrates, though I try to make it resemble a birthday party as much as it's allowed. But, the six month anniversaries are when shit hits the fan. He celebrates it with alcohol."_

Dean's voice was raspy, sounding older than he had any right to sound, even though he couldn't have been more than thirteen at that time. He sounded exhausted.

_"Last year he almost got himself killed during a hunt because he'd gotten himself drunk. Really, Dad? That's what you want your legacy to be?"_

Sam gaped. He never heard his brother talk ill of their dad. Well, he'd never heard Dean be that honest.

_"Well, who am I to judge? I mean, as far as I know all my legacy is going to be 'Sammy's brother' or 'John's other son'. 'John's dead son'. Someone who died just as his teenage years started."_

Sam cringed at the humorless laugh his brother coughed out. It sounded so hollow and empty.

_"I decided how I want to do it. I'll wait two weeks, a month tops, and then I'll get rid of myself. I have to make it look like an accident, so Dad won't feel guilty. I don't want my death to collide with anything important, much less the anniversary of the Fire and Mom dying. That way my family can go on without bothering themselves."_

_"Dean, are you okay?"_

Sam heard a child's voice, his voice, calling out to Dean. He couldn't remember having been a part of that memory. As far as he knew, their dad got drunk on random occasions. Now he realized what that 'random' occasion was.

_"I'm okay, kiddo. Let's get you something to eat, alright?"_

How could he not have heard how Dean's voice broke, underneath the gentle and loving tone that was only reserved for Sam.

_"You're the best."_

He heard himself, well, his younger self, say that, his voice childish and innocent, and he could actually feel Dean almost lost his control right then and there. He heard the way Dean's laughter bordered on a sob.

Little Sam must have scurried away, no doubt sitting on a chair in the kitchen and waiting for Dean to come and make him some delicious food. The voice came near the microphone as if Dean suddenly remembering it was there. The playful and tender undertone in his voice completely disappearing, and his whisper was quiet, almost inaudible.

_"I guess it doesn't matter anyway, what I think. Sammy would grow up without me. He'll forget all about me. And then, it's going to be over."_

And the tape ended with a click that made Sam jump.

Sam wanted to scream and break something. He felt like he could kill Dean with his own bare hands right now… or maybe just hug him, feed him pie and promise to make it up to him for every time he had felt down and Sam had failed to cheer him up.

Because Sam Winchester had his brother, in god knows how many more tapes, confessing how he wanted to die. He had no clue what was the best way to even begin to deal with Dean's newly revealed suicidal tendencies.

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A/N: Let me know what you thought, please? I would love to know your ideas. Review, please. They make my day so much brighter.


	3. Chapter 3: The Grass Grows

A/N: Umm, hi guys! Long time, no see, huh? Inspiration struck and it was a weekend so I decided to write a new chapter. I can't promise any new updates for another week at least. I'll be very busy with my studies then.

Special thanks to _fallingangelsandstars _for reading over this chapter.

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Sam took the tape out of the Walkman and turned it to side B, feeling like he was about to be sick. He leaned his head against the headboard and hugged his knees to his chest, trying to shield himself from the sudden chill spreading in his chest. He was terrified to find out more, but he knew he had to. Sam had to listen.

"_I made mac and cheese for Sammy. He's busy gulping it down as quickly as he can, no matter how many times I reassure him that all of it is his,"_ Dean said with affection, laughing softly. It was amazing to listen to Dean displaying such a wide range of emotion over a short period of time.

"_So, I guess I have a few more minutes to finish this before the monster decides to come back and bug me again."_

Dean laughed again, teasing Sam. But he knew that Dean didn't really mean it. A huge lump began growing in Sam's throat, and he couldn't breathe.

"_This part is for you, Sam. You are one of the most important people in my life and I guess you're also one of the reasons that I want to die. Maybe that's selfish of me but I want you to know why I did it."_

Dean said, his voice turning serious again. Sam knows he is not ready to hear what is coming next. He doubts he will ever be. This part was recorded for him and the temptation to just turn the thing off is overwhelming.

"_I don't know what's happening to me lately. I mean, I know _what _is happening, I just don't know why. All I know is that yesterday, __I sprained my ankleduring_ _sparring practice with Dad and I went to __the __medicine cabinet to take a painkiller. It just… __It __took everything I had not to take the whole bottle. I had to think of how it was almost the anniversary of Mom_'_s death_ _and how you and Dad needed me to stop."_

Dean's voice broke in the end and Sam realized that he had started crying, the tears trickling silently down his cheeks.

"_The worst thing is, it's not even the first time. Well, if this is just a teenager thing, __then __I don't want you to grow up, ever. Because I don't know what is going to happen to you, Sammy__,_ _and I hate it. I don't want you to get up one day and ask yourself, '__W__hat's the meaning of all this?' and '__W__hy do we fight monsters?' Honestly, kiddo? I don't know."_

It never ceased to amaze Sam that at some point of his life, Dean had doubted the hunting and their lifestyle, the only things that seemed to matter to him. Even thinking about it broke Sam's heart and made bile rise up in his throat.

"_Sammy, you're all I have in this deep black hole that's in my mind. Taking care of you, taking care of Dad is what keeps me breathing. So, in a way, you and Dad are also my reason to live."_

Dean said this with an element of surprise in his voice, as if he was just realizing it. He chuckled darkly.

"_Little brother, I don't know if you'll ever find this or if you'll remember me when you do. It pains me to imagine you forgetting me but maybe it's for the best. Just know that even though I'm a horrible and selfish person for leaving you, there's a part of me that wishes it would do you some good. Because, there is a part of me that keeps hoping that when I die, Dad will give up hunting and start acting more like a father. Maybe __then you could __have a real home again, you know?"_

Wow. This was almost too painful to listen to. How could Dean hate himself this much, to think killing himself would do Sam any good? How could he even think that?

"_Sammy, living with you in a crappy one room hotel it's hard to avoid not knowing what you do in every single minute. So, I know that you pray every night. I don't know what __you're_ _praying about__._ _I'm just happy that you believe __there's something, or someone good out there._ _I don't believe in a god. But, if it is true, I know that I'm going to go to hell. Because that's where they go when they do it, I guess. Commit suicide."_

Dean said calmly, as if he had already thought it through and calculated the consequences, the pros and cons, and come to the conclusion that dying, no,_killing _himself was the best option.

"_Dean! You promised to help me __practice for_ _my dictation test tomorrow."_

He heard himself call from a distance. He sounded whiny. Sam wanted, more than anything, to tell the little boy to go and comfort his big brother, and keep him from thinking any more hateful, harmful, despairing thoughts. . But, he knew that it was no use. It was already done.

"_I love you, kiddo__,_" Dean said softly. That's when Sam hit the stop button. He couldn't listen to his brother talk about dying anymore. When did this happen? How had Dean managed to hide it from Sam for so long? How could Sam have missed it?

Of course, Sam knew that Dean was depressed. Sometimes even more than usual. Like, when their father died or that period of time after he had returned from Hell. But this was a serious issue. As in, getting medication and close to having no options other than hospitalization serious.

Sam didn't know what he was going to do with his newfound knowledge, but one thing was sure. He was going to listen to all the tapes. He was going to listen to his brother talk, no matter if he wanted to or not.

Maybe this time, Sam had to be the one taking care of Dean.

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A/N: I would love to know your ideas. Review please and let me know what you thought of this chapter. Reviews make my day so much brighter.


	4. Chapter 4: The Seeds Root

Chapter 4: The Seeds Root

A/N: Hello there. Thank you for all your attention to this story. So, here is a brand new chapter. One thing that I liked to mention before starting this story is, the titles for chapters, as well as the title of the story comes from the beautiful song, _Without You_, from the musical _Rent._

Special thanks to _fallingangelsandstars _for reading through this chapter. You're awesome.

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Sam took several deep breaths to compose himself. He found out the action only made the nausea worse, so he removed the headphones from his ears and dragged himself to the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror, before deciding to splash some water on his face. He was trying to lessen the puffiness in his eyes, but the water only mingled with his tears, making it worse.

He couldn't believe it. Dean…his brother, had been wanting to kill himself when he had been only thirteen. He racked his brain, desperately trying to remember that time, see if there was anything out of place then with Dean. However, he couldn't pinpoint anything wrong. Maybe some days he was a bit moodier than usual but he had always treated Sam with the same annoying and loving manner he'd gotten used to over the years.

All this time, Sam had been trying to get Dean to open up. What he didn't know that his brother had been opening himself up to a tape recorder. Dean had been desperately trying to get someone to listen to him, maybe save him from himself. But there was no one there to hear his cries. The darkness had swallowed them all.

Sam wondered that what had happened then to make Dean stop. Did he happen to have a change of mind or did he actually…attempt it and fail? Sam thought with difficulty and had to hold the sink to keep from falling down.

He finally gathered the courage to come out of the bathroom. He tried to press the play button but it felt like it was the most difficult thing he had ever had to do.

It had been easy that first time, when he thought he would be hearing some cheesy love song from a girl or even better, Dean singing a cheesy love song. But, now he knew what was waiting for him. It was his brother's familiar voice uttering words so unfamiliar and so unlike Dean that Sam didn't know whether he was strong enough to go through any more of them.

_"I got Sammy to sleep. It took a while, seeing as it's Saturday and there's apparently a show that he wanted to watch but then I changed it to a channel about circuses and as soon as he saw the first clown, he was off to bed,"_ Dean chuckled. He sounded a bit more relaxed than Sam had heard him last time. But even now Sam could hear the undertones of exhaustion and sadness in his brother's voice.

_"But, I'm not going to use it again at least for a while. I'm worried the novelty of that would wear off and it's going to be a pain in the ass to figure out another way to get him to sleep on time."_

Sam scrunched his nose in disgust at the mention of the clowns but other than that, he started remembering different tricks Dean used to get him to behave. Singing clowns, monsters who ate the boys that didn't behave and a hungry werewolf that fed on kids' naughtiness were just instances of Dean's creativity.

_"I guess there's no use delaying the truth time, right? So, hey Dad. It's your son, Dean. I guess the rest of this tape is for you. You're one of the reasons I want to die. And I want you to know why. I don't know if you'll even bother listening this far. A part of me is trying to stay optimistic that you'd care and another part of me knows that you're not going to waste your time with this."_

Sam almost pressed stop then and there. The pain was obvious in Dean's voice. It was hurting him to listen to his brother thinking that nobody cared.

_"I don't understand that what's the use of living if you're already dead. People say that time heals all wounds. But, really, it doesn't. Sometimes it just makes it worse and then it becomes impossible to heal as more time passes. That's what happening to me, Dad. Since the fire, I feel like my world has been spinning out of control,"_ Dean confessed, his voice breaking, weariness and grief seeping in.

_"I don't feel alive, Dad. Sometimes I wonder if I already did die in that fire nine years ago. Because if this, this that I've been doing is living…I-I don't want it, not anymore, Dad. I tried to ignore it, I really did. I tried to man up and fill this void with helping you out and taking care of Sammy. B-But I can't do it anymore."_

Dean stuttered and Sam suspected that the quiver in his voice was a sign that he was crying. He was proven right when the tape fell silent and started again in a few seconds. Dean had no doubt taken a moment to calm himself down.

_"I know I'll never be good enough for you. Not a good enough hunter and certainly not a good enough son. I hope you don't remember the first hunt we went together, because it's one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. It wasn't anything serious. A restless spirit that started to kill mothers who'd neglected their children. Just a simple salt and burn. But then, I stared at the corpse and I started wondering about how she would never see her own kids again and how she would truly die and whether it would cause her pain. I started thinking so much that I fainted and you had to carry me back,"_ Dean said, shame coloring his voice and by the way his voice came out muffled Sam could picture him burying his face in his hands.

_"I could never stop remembering the disappointment in your eyes. It's right there each time I close my only thing that ever compared to it was when I fucked it up with that Shtriga."_

Sam felt anger rise up inside him._ How could you be so stupid, Dean? It wasn't your fault that you weren't a freaking robot._

_"Do you remember what you told me then, Dad? You said that people could have died because I was weak. I had to be strong for this family, for Sam. And I tried, I really did. I guess, sometimes just trying to be your best isn't enough though."_

He started laughing without any humor-laughter bordering on hysteria. The sound sent chills down Sam's spine.

_"So yeah, I guess I'm giving up. I'm tired. I know it's not an excuse and I know what you'll say. That I'll be a disgrace to your name. And this tape is just showing how pathetic I really am. Hell, that's why I'll probably burn this tape before I kill myself. I can't bear to imagine the look of disappointment in your eyes if you ever listen to this. How I let you down by choosing the coward's way out. But, just for the sake of my sanity, know that I'm sorry. I really hope you take care of Sammy when I'm gone. He's a really good kid, but he needs his Dad more than he needs his screw up of a brother."_

Sam heard Dean several deep breaths to avoid breaking down again.

_You don't know how wrong are you, Dean. You're not a screw up. You did way better than Dad in taking care of me. You were, you are my mom, my dad, my brother and my best friend. How could you ever think that?_

_"So, I guess that's it. That's all I have to say. Goodbye."_

The tape ended with a click and Sam rushed to the bathroom to empty the contents of his stomach.

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A/N: How did you like this chapter? Leave a review with your thoughts and ideas, please.


	5. Chapter 5: The Flowers Bloom

Chapter 5: The Flowers Bloom

A/N: This chapter has spoilers for episode 9x07 Bad Boys.

**Attention: Trigger warning for description of a suicide attempt.**

A huge thank you to _fallingangelsandstars _for reading over this chapter. I couldn't have done it without you, sweetie.

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It felt like Sam had been throwing up for hours. It got to the point where he found that there was nothing left in his stomach, but he still felt nauseous and retched again, stomach heaving. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and finally flushed the toilet, then approached the sink to wash his mouth out with cold water.

Afterwards, he went to search the shelf in Dean's bedroom for the second tape. It didn't take much time, thanks to Dean being obsessed with cleanliness and organizing his possessions. Sam grabbed the cassette and climbed up onto the bed. He hesitantly replaced the tape and pressed the play button, bracing himself for what was about to come next .

_"Uncle Bobby. It's me, Dean. I decided to talk to you because well...I'm too ashamed to talk to Dad… even in this tape. And I can see the worry on Sam's face every night in my dreams. I can't tell him any of this. God knows he'd been through enough these past months. But, I know he's with you and I'm really glad that you're taking care of him."_

Dean's voice is deeper in this tape, more mature. Sam can hear some noises in the background that doesn't sound like him, Dad or Bobby. Some people, some teenagers seem to be laughing loudly.

_"It's afternoon and it's the only free time we got. So, the brats are out doing…something. Running on the fields and messing around. It's hard not to care for them. But, I try my best. Some of them are here for stealing or beating people up. There's someone in our room that apparently killed his father. Well that's the rumor, at least."_

Brats? Where was Dean? Why was he somewhere where...some killers were?

Sam tried to remember and the only thing he can recall is a hazy memory of what had felt like a lifetime, but couldn't have been more than two or three months that he'd spent in Bobby's house. That has to be it. Sam could remember that Dad told him that Dean had gotten lost during a hunt and he was off finding him so that's why he had to stay with Bobby.

_"I wonder what excuse Dad used to explain my absence to Sam. I hope he tells him that I didn't have a choice. And that I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that during the last days the food was basically shit. I think I know what Dad thinks and why he hadn't come back to get me. This is my punishment for losing the money he left. Sometimes I think he might not even return and I'll live here in the boys' home for the rest of my life."_

A boys' home? That's where Dean was?

Sam vaguely remembers picking up Dean from some house in suburbs. He remembers the relief he felt, and annoyance that Dean didn't attempt to find him or contact him. He wanted to sulk during the ride, but Dean holding him in his arms and stroking his hair, while he napped in the backseat made up for it, chasing all of Sam's worries away.

"Dad would think that it was all my fault and I agree. It was a stupid thing to do. Stealing from the shop for the second day in the row was beyond careless. I should've guessed that the bastard would be watching me like a hawk. But, it was the only thing to do and it wasn't because I enjoy stealing...or gambling. Dad doesn't think about the fact that the money he leaves won't be enough to last us, not when he's gone for weeks. Sam's shoes had some tears and all the mud and rain started to seep through his socks. Of course, he didn't complain but he had a field trip in the weekend and… I-I had to do something."

Guilt gnawed on Sam's insides. So Dean went through all these troubles because of him? Dean always took care of him and what did Sam do? Nothing. Not a damn thing.

_"That son of a bitch in the bar took all my money. Hustle the hustler. It was a bad week and we were just barely getting by. Getting arrested was just the cherry on top. But then, I get sent to this place. And Sonny, this hippie, is attempting to analyze and understand me. I think he's trying to figure out how a poor little teenager like me could turn into such a delinquent," _Dean said and Sam could envision his smirk so clearly. Poor Sonny, whoever he was. He didn't know what hit him. Analyzing Dean Winchester was the most difficult subject, and Sam had yet to even begin to grasp it.

_"The first night they brought me here, when Dad didn't pick his phone, I called you. I was so worried about what had happened to Sammy. That maybe Dad dumped him in a crappy motel room or worse, taken him on a hunt with him. But, you assured me that you wouldn't let anything to happen to Sam on your watch. Thank you…just, thank you,"_

Dean said sincerely. Tears started gathering in Sam's eyes and he wiped them away furiously. Even away from them, every thought Dean had revolved around their family.

_"I was emptying my duffel bag in the closet, Sonny's rules, and I found this Walkman in the bottom of it. I started listening to it and it began to hit me all over again. I remember that last time I held this and recorded my voice. I was so desperate and so sure that I wouldn't be strong enough to even make it through the next day, much less to sixteen."_

Dean's laugh was bitter, devoid of any trace of humour.

_"Guess what happened next. I tried to do it, you know. Kill myself. But it didn't work out. I even found the perfect opportunity. We came across a hunt where we had to burn down the whole room to put the spirit to rest. Don't ask me how would a spirit get attached to a room, I have no clue. And there I was, with this Walkman and the tape inside my pocket and I started pouring gasoline over myself. I lit the match and I feel this pain, this heavy excruciating throbbing spreading in my leg but all I could think is that this burning inside me is finally finding an outlet. I still can't shake off the feeling of how right it felt. This was what supposed to happen, you know? I was supposed to burn in the house, nine years ago. I should've stayed with Sammy that night, protecting him. What kind of big brother am I? A failure. If I had protected him, maybe Mom would still be alive. Maybe our family would be still be together."_

Dean's voice quivered and he sounded so young, so hopeless. So utterly alone. Sam started crying silently, biting his finger to keep himself from sobbing aloud.

_"But, next thing I know there's a heavy blanket covering my leg and Dad is hitting it, silencing the fire with methodic movements. A part of me was relieved, happy, even, to find the pain gone. But I know that most of all I was upset that I couldn't get even this one thing right."_

He said casually, like it was an everyday matter. Sam had to restrain himself from jumping out of the bed and going to find Dean to shake or maybe even beat some sense...some self worth into his idiot brother's mind.

Dean had actually attempted suicide. And what did John do? Did he even notice Dean slipping into a hole of depression and self loathing? Did he even care that he was one of the reasons to make it worse? Or had he just put out the fire and moved on, expecting Dean to do the same?

_"Dad was furious. I've never seen him this angry. He said that I messed up and he couldn't even turn his back at me during a hunt for a single second. He scolded me, telling me I was an idiot for setting a room on fire when I was still standing in the middle of it, and started to give the usual lecture of 'What would have happened if Sammy was here?'. Same old, same old_," Dean said nonchalantly but his voice broke, revealing how upset Dean truly was. Sam couldn't imagine the pain, both physical and emotional, that Dean must've felt. He knew their Dad well enough. He would've let Dean tend to his wounds, maybe help him put some ointment on them and then John would have made him do pushups, situps and all kinds of exercises as punishment for Dean's recklessness. And Dean, stubborn as he was, would do it without a single complaint.

_"So, yeah. I'm considering suicide...again. Well, that's not new. I'm just trying to make a better plan this time. Because that's what you do when you've messed up and can't fix anything, right? When you're nothing but a burden. And there's nothing here to stop me. Hell, I don't think Sonny would even lift a finger. Maybe he'd be sorry that he has to get paid less by government, or maybe happy that he has one less person, if you could even call me that, to take care of. I don't even care what he thinks."_

Sam heard a rustling coming from nearby and teared the headphone off his ears.

"Sammy, prepare to stuff your gigantic stomach with some homemade pies," he hears Dean, real life Dean, call to him. Sam had lost the track of time. And now, by the sounds of it, Dean was on his way to the kitchen, which was barely steps away from his bedroom.

_Shit._

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A/N: Reviews are very much appreciated and give me such a great encouragement for updating quicker.


	6. Chapter 6: The Children Play

Chapter 6: The Children Play

A/N: I'm so glad that I got to talk to some of you these past days. It's been such a great experience. I just wanted to thank you, for supporting this story...for supporting me. Also, to all those who either leave anonymous reviews or have disabled their PM option, a huge thank you for taking the time to read and leave such kind words for me. To everyone else out there, you're all amazing. Having people like you reading this story is such a huge reward for me.

Also, look at the left corner. That's right! A huge thank you to my dear friend, _Linneagb, _who made me this wonderful cover image.

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Sam acted on an impulse. The years of training, used this time to hide his actions from his brother, he grabs a couple of cassettes, quickly picking the tapes, leaving the boxes in their former place on shelf, along with the Walkman. He fits the tapes in the back pocket of his jeans. He isn't ready to part with them. At least, not yet. Then he quietly steps out of the room, making his way into the kitchen.

Dean was in the kitchen, surrounded by grocery bags and whistling a tune Sam couldn't recognize. He was sorting through the groceries and barely noticed Sam's arrival.

"Heya, Sammy," he greeted, waving and smiling like a child, well, a _normal_ child, on Christmas, "don't just stand there. Come on and give me a hand. Make your giraffe height useful and put those on the top shelf," Dean said cheerfully, pointing to a stack of what appears to be boxes.

"Are you opening up a pie business?" Sam asked in surprise.

"Very funny," Dean rolled his eyes, but smiled, amused by the idea, his eyes twinkling, "you'll thank me later when you get to have some warm food and my baby won't be littered with garbage."

"Alright. Okay," Sam held his hands up in surrender. No one could argue with Dean when it came to his precious Impala.

They finish working in silence, the moves so familiar, leaving no room for awkwardness. It's almost like a practiced dance.

Sam remained lost in his thoughts. He wanted...he had to make up the perfect plan to in order to approach Dean with this subject. He knew he had only one shot at extracting the truth from his brother and if he messed it up...well, he doubted the next couple of weeks would be easy to survive.

"Do you want to maybe grab a beer or something?" Sam suggested once the last of the groceries were sorted. He saw Dean's eyebrows shoot up and hastily added, "and look through some cases?"

"Sure, okay," Dean replied, looking suspicious.

"Okay, then. I'll bring the beers," he said, shuffling awkwardly to the refrigerator, where they kept the beers.

"Christo," he heard Dean mutter, looking at him intently.

"Dude, I'm not a demon," Sam complained. Was it that suspicious that he wanted to have a beer with his brother at...one in the afternoon? Okay, maybe that was a bit weird.

"Just checking," Dean shrugged, not prying any further.

They settle behind the desk and take turns looking through newspapers and search on the shared laptop. They sip the beer slowly.

"Okay. That's it," Sam said, slamming the book he was checking out on the table.

"What's wrong, Sam?" Dean asked warily.

"What? Nothing," Sam answered, scrambling to make up an excuse.

"You're angry," Dean observed.

Damn right I'm angry, Sam wanted to shout. How could you hide something like that from me...from Dad?

"Dean, are you okay?" Sam couldn't bear the pretending anymore and had to ask. He winced at his own question.

"Sure. I'm peachy. I got my beer and my brother acting like a creep. I'm on top of the world," his brother replied, rolling his eyes and turning back to the laptop, still gazing at Sam from the corner of his eye.

Sam opened his mouth but closed it after realizing that he had no idea how to approach the subject. Nothing in the books he'd read had anything remotely resembling 'how to approach your suicidal brother'. He sighed in frustration and tried again.

"I mean, are you happy? With your life and everything?" he settled in asking instead. The tapes in his pocket seemed to weigh him down.

"Sure," he saw his brother nod, barely lifting his head. However, his posture changed, becoming tense.

"You ever thought about..." Sam started, but cut himself off immediately. Shit. This wasn't going at all like he'd planned.

"What?" Dean looked at him straight in the eyes and Sam was surprised to find them swirling in a sea of emotions.

"Nothing. Hey, man. I need to go and get some air. Can I have the keys?" he asked, his voice shaking was sure that Dean had caught that.

"Sure," Dean said, tossing the keys, which Sam caught easily.

Sam moved to step out of the room. He really needed some fresh air. He needed to get away from Dean.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean called to him and Sam turned, ready for the accusation.

"What?" he asked defensively.

_Have you seen my tapes?_

_My tapes are missing!_

_What's that in your pocket?_

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked instead and Sam breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Yeah. I'm good."

Sam wanted to bang his head against a wall. Because all he wanted was to have Dean once, just once, without all the walls, all the defences and barriers he'd put up for the rest of the world, including Sam. Especially Sam.

Sam got out of the house, shaking his head. He screwed up so bad.

_Dammit._

He punched the nearest car, a useless piece of junk Dean hadn't found time to fix yet and Sam hadn't bothered to remember its name.

He found the Impala parked in the garage, shining amongst all the other cars. He started the car, the familiar sound of the engine calming him down. He was ready to drive. To escape. To think.

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A/N: Reviews are very much appreciated and are a great encouragement. *wink wink*


	7. Chapter 7: The Stars Gleam

Chapter 7: The Stars Gleam

A/N: Hello, my wonderful readers. I hope you enjoy this brand new chapter. I'm really looking forward to know what you think about it. Let me know, please.

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Sam had been driving aimlessly for half an hour, without a single care as to where he was headed. He couldn't focus on anything in particular, his thoughts racing, each one as fleeting as the last. He finally turned on the music player, not bearing the silence anymore. It was a reminder of the three excruciating months Dean had been in Hell and he had driven alone in the Impala. He almost turned the music player off right away as an earsplitting shout-that some people called singing-tore through the silence in the car.

He ejected the tape. He was getting a headache already. Suddenly, he was struck with an idea as he held the offending piece of music in his hand. Maybe he could listen to the rest of Dean's tapes here?

He fished the first one out from his pocket and inserted it in the cassette player, glad for once that Dean was adamant on keeping his car just as it was and didn't attempt to do any upgrades on it, technology-wise.

_"Dammit, Sammy. Where are you, kid?"_

The tape started simply. Once again, his brother's voice was deeper than the last one, meaning that a period of time had passed before Dean had slipped up and fallen into another episode of depression, again. What would he be thinking about this time? Would he record his voice just to vent or would he be thinking of...killing himself? Sam gulped down hard, his palms suddenly sweaty. He wondered what this time was about and how he was responsible for it.

_"If you're hurt...or worse. I-I swear to God, Sam, I can't...I can't do it without you, man."_

Dean choked, his voice getting caught in his throat. The tape suddenly falls silent, and the only noise is the faint rustling in the background, suggesting that Dean was moving, maybe to get comfortable. Or more likely, stall, needing time to compose himself.

_"Dad's pissed. Well, that's an understatement. Dad's pissed when I accidentally put sugar rings instead of salt rings. Dad's pissed when I'm too tired to wash the dishes and he wakes up to the smell. But, right now...Dad is...I'm scared of Dad, Sammy,"_ he said in a small voice. Sam winced. John was brutal when it came to criticizing their work and with Dean...well, he was merciless.

_"He came less than an hour after I called him. I searched everywhere for you, Sam. The library, your favorite coffee shop, the park. I walked all across the town, threatened all your friends, trying to get them to tell me if they saw you but nobody knew anything. No one had seen you. After ten days, I finally called Dad. He...he...well, he didn't do anything I didn't deserve."_

With a jolt, Sam realized when and where this tape was recorded. It must've been that time when he ran away when they were in Flagstaff, Arizona. He remembered Dad being more relieved than angry to find him huddled in a cottage with his new friend, Bones. It seemed that Dean hadn't gotten off that easily.

_"It felt good in a way. A simple give and get, you know. You fuck up, you get punished. The harder you fuck up the more severe your punishment is. And I fucked up, Sammy, big time. I lost you when I was supposed to keep an eye on you. You disappeared on my watch. That's something that's not going to be forgiven and forgotten with a few extra laps or a slap or two."_

Sam hit the brakes. This wasn't acceptable. Dean shouldn't have been punished because of a stupid and childish stunt that Sam had pulled, not Dean. Sam remembered all the weeks he spent plotting and calculating ways to run away. He lied and cheated his way to get free, betraying Dean's trust and pushing the buttons that he knew would make Dean relent enough to make it happen.

But the thought of Dad hitting Dean made him sick to his stomach.

_"Dad said that you weren't kidnapped or had gone against your will. He told me that I was an idiot for not noticing your bag and most of your favorite clothes were gone. Sammy, he said that you took off. I hope he's right."_

The betrayal and hurt in Dean's voice broke Sam's heart and he struggled to keep the tears at bay. He didn't want to get into an accident tonight.

_"So that's why I'm here, basically in lockdown in this boring motel room. Dad's out there and when I asked him if I could come, he didn't show any indication that he'd heard me other than locking the door behind him. He didn't even grace my question with an answer."_

Dean laughed humorlessly and the sound broke Sam even more.

_"I already cleaned the room, twice. A pathetic attempt at apologizing, I know, but it's still better than nothing. I made dinner and I'm too nervous to turn on the television. So I'm glued beside the phone, waiting for Dad's call."_

Sam remembered that after that for a while, Dean had distanced himself. He kept on cleaning the rooms, making dinner, doing chores without saying a word to Sam. He was barely sleeping and got himself injured on a hunt for snoozing. After that, they left the town pretty quickly and Dean slowly began to go back to his old self.

_"So, that's why I turned into this Walkman again. I just don't know what to do,"_ his brother said helplessly, making Sam curse himself for causing Dean this much heartache.

_"Let's start it where we left off last time, shall we? Let's start by saying that why is a poor excuse of a human like me still alive and breathing, wasting oxygen,"_ he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

_"I spent about a week plotting. I had the perfect plan too. I would approach Sonny one day, saying some of the brats had thrown my shoes up in the roof and he'd agree for me to go and bring them back. The kind-hearted idiot that he is. But then when I step up onto the roof, I'd just let myself fall. It's a three-story building and I'd make sure to land on my head. That would do the trick. I've always been scared of heights so maybe that should be the way I died. Facing my fears. Try to make Dad proud one last time,"_ Dean stated simply and Sam was shocked at how easily his brother spoke of death. It scared him to no end to see this side of Dean. Fearless about offing himself and scared of facing the truth.

_"What made me stop was...a bit cliche but well, it's the truth. What made me stop from killing myself was a girl. I can't even remember her name, you know how terrible I am with names. Well, she and Sonny, the hippie, remember? I remember Sonny and ...Robin..yeah, that's it. That was her name. Like Batman. They helped me get to a better place and accept my life, you know,"_ he said, his voice softening. Sam was thankful that his brother had somehow changed his mind. He couldn't even imagine how he would have coped if after two months of not seeing Dean, he was collected by their father and facedthe simple statement of 'Dean's dead.'.

_"I can't go on with my life whining like a kid at every obstacle I face. Granted, most obstacles I encounter-it's unlikely that anyone else would ever face them. I doubt most people struggle over whether to leave their brother bleeding to call for help or attempt to perform first aid so he doesn't die of blood loss,"_ Dean said and Sam barely resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. There was no doubt that their life wasn't exactly the epitome of normal.

_"But most people don't have someone like you in their lives, Sammy. The bond we have, this amazing...powerful bond is something that I believe in. Sometimes, the only thing that I believe in and keeps me going on."_

Dean told sincerely, his voice getting caught in his throat and Sam had to brace himself tight behind the steering wheel to keep from bursting into tears.

_"That's why I have to keep you happy. It's my job, of course. But, it's also the meaning of my life. You're my lifeline, Sammy. I'm as good as dead without you."_

_You're mine too, big brother. Why can't you see how lost I am without you? Why can't you love yourself like I do?_

_"And if you're not happy, Sammy. That means I failed...again. "_

Dean sighed, as if he was suddenly exhausted of speaking, of trying to explain himself.

_"You and Dad are fighting all the time. I try to keep the peace, I really do. But I never manage to do it right. In the end one of you is mad at me for not defending him like I should've. More often than not that's you, Sam. I hate to see the disappointment in your eyes. I hate to see how you look at me like I'm your enemy. I hate to see how you think you're all alone."_

_I never thought I was alone. I'm so sorry that I've been hurting you this much._

Sam knew that Dean was going to ignore his apologies if he ever worked up the courage to voice them. Because he thought he didn't deserve them. Dean's entire world revolved around their family and they made him think he wasn't enough for them. The words that awful night yellow-eyed demon said replayed in Sam's mind. What if the pain he saw twisting his brother's features was partly because he truly believed that his family didn't need him?

_"I'm kinda pathetic for a nineteen year old, you know? I wonder what I would turn into when I grow I grow up, because it's hard to imagine ever reaching twenty, much less some distant, unthinkable age like twenty-five, thirty years old,_" Dean wondered aloud, and his voice was filled with so much self-loathing it was making Sam choke. A loud honking alerted him to the fact that he hadn't notice the light turning green, and he turned his attention back to driving.

_"I don't want you to turn into a loser like me. Or, as you say best, 'a brainless soldier', ready to follow orders. You're so much better than this, Sam and it hurts to see that I can't give you enough. Man, I can't do this anymore,"_ Dean exclaimed hopelessly, and Sam swore he could hear a slight banging sound. Almost as if Dean hit his head against a hard surface a couple of times.

_"I can take it when Dad yells. Hell, most of the times I deserve so much worse than yelling. But, you only stare at me, never saying a word. Sometimes when you just shrug and roll over to the other side of your bed, I want to die."_

Dean's voice broke in the end and Sam was left with Dean's soft cries filling the car. The cries turned into sobs and each hitch in Dean's breath clawed at Sam's heart.

_"But I can't. I guess screwing up is just the only thing that I manage to do right, you know? I just hope you're happy Sam, wherever you are."_

The tape ended with a loud click and Sam was left with more questions and thoughts to ponder over than he had had to begin with.

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A/N: Reviews make my day a whole lot brighter. *wink wink*


	8. Chapter 8: The Poets Dream

**Chapter 8: The Poets Dream**

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Sam changed the tape, mentally calculating which period of time this one was going to be. There had been a few failed hunts that had Dad yelling at them and one or two horrible deaths.

Oh, Sam remembered. And then there was that night...The one that changed everything, he thought with a wince. He didn't waste any more time and pressed play.

_"Hey Mom. It's weird talking to you like this. Not that I hadn't been talking to you in all these times. It's just strange talking to a recorder out loud and there's no reply. Nothing but a terrible silence. It's like I'm going crazy. Maybe already am."_

This one was going to be brutal, Sam could feel it. Since the start Dean's voice was quivering and it seemed that he was barely able to hold himself together.

_"Because sometimes, in my mind, you do reply. You say how much you're proud of me. Sometimes I pull the windows up and listen to the Beatles album I hid in the dashboard and I swear, it's almost like you're there. But Mom, I don't know if I can fix anything now. Don't think I ever could. Not now, not when I'm so broken I don't think I can fix myself,"_ Dean said, his voice pained. Sam could feel tears already threatening to spill. He opened the dashboard, barely thinking it through and sure enough, underneath all those fake IDs, guns and a food wrapper with questionable quality was the tape which simply stated 'Beatles: The Best'.

_"Anyway, Dad's miserable and I got dumped,"_ Dean chuckled.

_"The worst thing is, Sammy's gone, Mom, and there's this ache, this pain inside me that I don't know if it will ever heal. I don't have anyone else to talk to. I haven't said anything for months now. Unless you include the things I say to try and calm down Sam or Dad."_

His brother sighed and Sam felt guilt rise up. He'd completely lost sight of how Dean had felt in those tension-riddled months before he'd enrolled in Stanford. Now it hit him with double force.

_"Sam and Dad do nothing but fight whenever they're in the same room. You would've known what to do. You would've calmed them down but I can't. I can't even remember the last time we had a peaceful meal together. It was just me and Sammy or me and Dad hunting. That's the only time we talked, Dad and I,"_ Dean said, hurt lacing his voice. Sam felt angry instantly. But he knew his anger was more directed towards himself than their father. They'd been too caught up in arguing with each other that they'd never even stopped to think that there was another member in the family, someone else who may have needed more attention than being used as a mediator.

_"He thinks it's my fault. That I'd been coddling Sam too much but what should have I done, Mom, ruin his childhood? His innocence? Taught him to be taunted by shadows before he could even understand the meaning of fear?"_ he said, letting all his hurt and frustration come loose. At that moment Sam was more aware than any time before how much Dean sacrificed for taking care of him.

_"Anyway, I don't want to argue with Dad. Talking is merely reduced to 'watch your back' and 'we're leaving'. Just orders. I can't help but feel that Dad might snap at any moment and I'm terrified to see the outcome."_ There was a pause, a stretch of silence that had Sam terrified.

_"With Sammy gone it's dead quiet in here. The whole dynamic has shifted. The man I'm following around... I can't call him Dad. He's become this man to whom you should only answer to with 'yes sir' and 'no sir'"_

he said, his voice breaking. Sam knew that Dean craved their father's approval, an approval he rarely got.

_"Before all this I had Sammy to keep me company, and the loneliness wasn't choking me like it is now. It didn't have this much of a hold on me. Because, with Sammy gone, there's nothing such as family bonds, and what guarantee do I have that Dad won't be next? Maybe one day he'll realize that I'm useless and he's better off without me."_

Dean said brokenly and Sam stared unseeingly in front of him.

_"I miss Sammy. I know he's just a phone call away but I can't. Well, that's not true. Sammy's not a phone call away. He specifically told Dad that he shouldn't bother calling because there will be no one to answer. Well, of course, since I'm on Dad's side for Sammy, he meant me as well."_

Sam couldn't stand it anymore. The tears made driving a real challenge. He pulled over and parked the car.

_"But, despite that, I called him yesterday, after Cassie dumped me-that's her name, by the way- and the number was out of order. He got rid of his old phone, Mom. Just like he got rid of us."_

The helplessness and the utter betrayal that reflected from Dean's voice was enough to make Sam want to turn off the cassette player and just curl into himself.

_"Sometimes I can't help but glance over to the passenger seat, and wait for him to give me directions or rattle out some geeky stuff about the weather or the place and its historical value and all that, but then I look around and the seat is empty and it hits me all over again."_

Dammit, now without driving to distract himself he was more than aware of the nuances in Dean's voice, every slight detail betraying his emotions. All the betrayal and sadness was pouring out of him.

_"Dad's barely even looking at me. He doesn't even ride in the car with me anymore. He just barks out the destination and leaves, going to run some errands. Maybe he wanted me to leave instead of Sam. We never had much of a touchy-feely relationship...or maybe not at all, Sam is a total taboo to talk about and it's like as if he never existed. But I-I just want him to say something. "_

Dean said and Sam couldn't contain himself any longer. He lashed out angrily, hitting the steering wheel with enough force to leave a bruise. Dean would be angry at Sam for mistreating the Impala but he felt better.

_"I want to believe that someday we'll be okay again, me, Dad and Sammy. That's all I want. That's all I need. I want to believe that the past won't matter. All the fighting and harsh words and 'If you walk out that door, don't you ever come back' would be forgiven and forgotten. But it does matter, because if it didn't then why does it still hurt so much? It's like a constant ache that goes on and on and you can't ignore it. "_

_I'm so sorry, Dean. We hurt you. I hurt you and I don't know how I can even begin to fix it._

_"I don't know what to do about Dad. We were on a hunt in Athens, Ohio and he barely came to the motel room. That's where I met her. Cassie...Cassie Robinson."_

Dean said with a strange affection in his voice that Sam hadn't thought he'd ever associate it with Dean talking about a girl.

_"Man, I suck when it comes to girls…and not in a good way. First that chick in that shitty high school…What was it, Truman High?And now Cassie. I've been told before that if you don't allow yourself to feel love you'll turn into an emotionless psycho. Well, if being in love feels like this, if it hurts this much, then I don't want to ever feel._" Sam could hear the struggle in Dean's voice as he fought to swallow past the lump in his throat.

_How could you say that, Dean?_

_"I didn't tell Dad that I told Cassie our secret. He would be so mad and would say it was a pathetic move to keep a girl. Well, now that I think about it,_ _maybe I'd prefer a mad Dad to this...person. Maybe being mad would somehow assure me that Dad cares,"_ Dean said as an afterthought, his voice blunt and brief. Sam barely has time to ponder over this new piece of information before he feels his phone vibrate. Glancing at the screen, he finds out that it's Dean. His heart starts beating rapidly. He turns off the cassette player and picks up the phone, coughing to clear his voice.

"Hey," he said curtly, making sure his voice doesn't reflect any indication of his emotions, of overwhelming guilt, for the invasion of privacy, for listening to Dean's darkest thoughts, and for hurting him, for not being there when he needed him.

"Hey, you alright?" Dean's voice came from the other side of the phone. Maybe he wasn't that successful.

"Yeah, you?" Sam asked.

"Fantastic," he replied, smirking. Sam rolled his eyes.

"When are you coming back?" Dean asked, his voice conveying a bit more emotion than usual. Maybe it was the aftermath of hearing his brother confess how hurt he was during his departure, but Sam couldn't shake off the feeling that maybe Dean had thought Sam was going to leave him and go his own way.

"Soon. Just went out for a short drive. I missed driving," he said weakly, and cringed at his pathetic excuse.

"You bet," Dean chuckled, sounding less terrified and more relieved. It was comforting.

"What do you want for lunch?" Dean asked and Sam was surprised to find his stomach grumbling. He really did lose track of time.

"I don't know. Whatever you want is fine," he shrugged.

"I was thinking of getting some takeout," Dean said, sounding like a child who had way too many pi...cookies.

"No, come on, man. We've been living on takeout our entire life. What about some pasta or chicken soup?" Sam complained.

"Oh, okay," Dean replied, sounding deflated.

Sam felt guilty instantly. Dean shouldn't have to cook every time. He deserved a break.

"You could order takeout if you want to," he relented.

"No, chicken soup is healthy. It should be good."

For you, was left unsaid but they both heard it. Sam's voice got caught in his throat.

"I'll come back and help you," he promised.

"Nah, it's okay. I was getting bored. Don't be late," his brother brushed it off in his usual Dean-ish manner and ended the call.

One more tape, Sam promises himself and then he'd head back. He pops in the tape and leans back, not at all ready to face his brother's crumbling defences, but determined to anyway.

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**A/N: Don't forget to review, please. They make me so happy for days. Also, it makes me know what you liked or disliked so I could work on improving. Anyway, to sum it all up, write me or PM me anything that comes to your mind.**


	9. Chapter 9: The Eagles Fly

**Chapter 9: The Eagles Fly**

**A/N: This is one of my favorite chapters of this story. I hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I did writing.**

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_"I can't believe this, I'm twenty-six years old. I'm alive, breathing and still clinging to this little thing like a chick with a diary. I'm worse than Sam. You know Sam, right? My annoying little brother."_

Dean laughed weakly. Sam wondered what had happened that made Dean want to record another tape. Dean sounded exhausted, like he hadn't slept in days, his laughter fake and forced.

_"This is going to sound crazy, but it's true. Monsters exist and I'm not talking about people like me who don't pray and may or may not have committed all kinds of sins. Real monsters, with teeth and claws and the whole she-bang."_

Dean said, his voice teasing. Sam wondered who he was talking to in this tape.

_"I guess there's no point beating around the bush anymore. Hi, Layla, I guess I'm going to talk to you in this tape now. Remember me? Dean Winchester, the non-believer? Sammy is gone, getting us-well, me-some healthy food. Rabbit food, if you ask me. He's going to end up buying a whole lot of food that still leaves you hungry in the end and costs a whole lot more than a freaking burger. He's not off the whole 'taking care of dying big brother' high yet."_

A small smile spread across Sam's face. Dean's attempt to lighten the tension was a relief, a reassurance that his brother could still see some light in the darkness.

_"Am I a horrible person for not stopping Sam from taking care of me? I know that I should be taking care of everything and reassure him that I'm alright. But, I guess I'm still pretty shaken up by the whole encounter with the Reaper. It also feels good to be wanted. I just hope that it's not fake or out of pity. But, who am I kidding? I'll take what I can get."_

Sam knew Dean's hesitance to ask for help and let his guard down enough for Sam to help him out and it had been scary, seeing Dean so resigned.

_"See, that's what was happening with that faith healer, Roy Le Grange. His wife made a deal with a Reaper and a whole lot of serious dark magic was involved so they could continue their business. A person had to die so that another person could live, so that Roy could heal someone. Tragic, even cruel, but is it, really? When some people are useless alive, if their death could bring people some good, why not kill them?"_

Sam had to bite his lip to stifle a gasp, and a cold trickle of fear ran through him. The cold tone and harsh words convinced him that not saving Layla had affected Dean more than he had let on, which wasn't a surprise seeing that apparently there was a great deal of things that Dean thought that he didn't know.

Sam remembered their argument over postponing their mission to break the connection between the Reaper and healer's wife for one more day, so the healer could save Layla, and for a split second, he wondered if they had made the right choice. Then he forced the thought out of his mind, and focused on Dean's voice.

_"We move a lot and I've seen a lot of people. I've saved a bunch too, but I'm not bragging. It's the least I could do to attempt to wipe my slate clean from all the lying, cheating and what a useless excuse I am for a human being. When I'm not smart enough, fast enough to save the people who are relying on me. When I'm so distracted worrying about Dad or Sam that I can't focus, and get someone killed. Anyway, after I leave a town, I like to believe that the people I've saved manage to reach their happy ending. It's the only thing I can do to help me sleep at night."_

Dean said and Sam felt a rush of anger spreading in him. They did all they could to save as many people as possible. How could Dean even think that it wasn't enough, that he still had a debt to pay? How could he expect himself to take care of his family and everyone else, but still think it wasn't enough? This constant craving for approval...wasn't it because Dean never approved himself and seeked it in others, who in turn failed to give it to him?

_"I know I can't fool myself that you'll get a happy ending. But, I'm trying going to convince myself that you do. I can't shake off how peaceful you were about dying. For me, dying is messy, bloody and the final fight before being free."_

Sam winced. The wistful longing in Dean's voice made his blood run cold. Sure, he mentioned that he wouldn't go down without a fight, and the apprehension of death was there. But the want-the almost need-for the release death would bring was scaring Sam more than he wanted to admit.

_"You know, I've been thinking about killing myself for a long while now. It's not healthy that thinking about dying and the fact that maybe this would be my last day is sometimes the only thing that helps me get up. These two years, with my brother gone, never answering his phone and my father basically ignoring me, it was hard not to think of it. When I see the disappointment and frustration in my Dad's face, that little sigh that shows how fed up he is with me, I really understand how much of a burden I am to him. Knowing the people around you would be happier with you finally dead, it's hard to want to keep going."_

Big brother, how could you say that? Please, tell me this is all a joke. Tell me that all this time your smile hadn't been a sign that you've been weeping inside.

_" I guess in a way I did kill myself this week, you know? Not noticing the water, being stupid enough to shoot the fugly monster with a taser while standing in it. What if Sammy had been there too? What if it was one of those kids? It terrifies me to think that I did see the water, I did feel the wetness but I just wanted to end it, now that I was alone. And then, amazingly, something good came out of it. Two kids were saved. I was happy to die. It was better than I'd ever planned. Less...selfish. Sam would be...would be happier without me and Dad...well, Dad would be disappointed anyway. It was a stupid move and I shot the taser without even noticing the water. Maybe I did deserve to die for my stupidity."_

_No you didn't. No one wants you to die. No one is more disappointed in you than you are in yourself. You are good, you're strong and you're loved. Please let me help you see that._

_"Your mother was right. I didn't deserve to live. Between you and me, it should've been you that was healed,"_ Dean said, sounding resigned. Sam wanted nothing more to wipe that resignation from his brother's voice.

_"Just so you know, I would've been okay dying so that you could be healed. If I had known that the Reaper was using me to save you, I'd have let it take my life in a heartbeat. I'd never even hesitate. My time was up a long while ago. It was a mistake, healing me that first time, and stopping the ceremony that you were about to get healed in it. It would've been worth it. Believing that is the only way I can silence this 'Your fault, your fault,' chanting in my head, you know?"_

_It wasn't your fault, Dean. Stop blaming yourself over something that I did. Please. I'm so sorry that you had to feel like this. But I couldn't let you go. I'd never let you go, brother._

_"But, don't worry, okay? Dying...it would be like sleeping, or flying. Well, I'm afraid of flying but I guess when you do what I do, you kind of think of death as a close friend. You're basically best buddies. But, I guess you've felt that too, huh? With the whole tumor thing,"_ Dean said, his voice uncharastically small.

_"But now, I have to go on knowing an innocent man's heart was stopped because of me. And now, I have the burden of one life, another weight on my shoulders. An innocent life sacrificed for me."_

_You've been sacrificing your everything for a long time. You sacrificed your childhood, your education, your life for Dad and I. You didn't know that the man was going to die. Stop blaming yourself, Dean._

_"These last months have been the best I've felt in the past two years. I feel guilty for dragging Sam back into this whole life on the road. It was the selfish thing to do and proves how useless I am alone. It hurt being reminded of that, having Sam scorn how much I need approval."_

_"See, a Reaper ain't the craziest thing we've encountered. The crazy thing is your brother shooting you under the influence of a sadistic ghost, and telling you what a loser you are while he's standing over you. The crazier thing is pretending it doesn't bother you."_

Sam felt guilt and shame rising up in his chest. He didn't mean to say all those things to Dean. He knew how sensitive his brother really was when it came to words. He could shake off a punch to the gut, but words pierced his heart for a long time, if not forever.

_"I don't know how should I feel about myself when my own father would leave me without any explanations whatsoever. Or when I'm suffocating my brother with my constant need to latch onto the people I love the most."_

_You're not suffocating me, or Dad. You keep us breathing._

_"Say hi to my Mom if you ever see her. It's sad to think that I'll never see her again, won't see her smiling and laughing. But, we can't have it all now, can we? Certainly not when it comes to a good-for-nothin' like me. I know I deserve to burn. Not continue to waste my life when someone precious like you fades away."_

Sam looked out of the window, tears running freely down his cheeks. The words were forming in his mind. Words that he hoped would help Dean ease the darkness within himself.

_"So, I guess this is the goodbye I wasn't brave enough to say to you. I really do hope that you'll get better, for my own sanity's sake, at least. I want to live in a world where there's sometimes a spark of goodness, and evil doesn't always win."_

Dean finishes with a sigh and Sam leans back in the seat, his muscles aching from being cooped up in the Impala for so long. He has to go back soon, he thinks as he starts the car, planning in his mind what to say to Dean.

_You're not a good for nothing, Dean. You're my brother...everything I have left, and I can't bear to see you gone,or hate yourself the way you do. I'll make you see that, even if it's the last thing I do._

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**A/N: Sammy's stolen tapes are almost done. He's bound to head back soon. What do you think it's going to happen? Will he and Dean have a sharing and caring session or will it all be brushed away? I hope you're not bored with this story. Don't forget to review.**


	10. Chapter 10: The Earth Turns

**Chapter 10: The Earth Turns**

**A/N: Hello, everyone. I'm beyond grateful for all the positive response I've recieved for chapter nine, and this story overall. I'm so excited to find out what you think about this chapter.**

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Sam ejected the tape and inserted a new one-the last one, he noted. He pressed play reluctantly.

"_Living easy, living free_

_Season ticket on a one-way ride_

_Asking nothing, leave me be_

_Taking everything in my stride_

_Don't need reason, don't need rhyme_

_Ain't nothing I would rather do_

_Going down, party time_

_My friends are gonna be there too_

_I'm on the highway to hell."_

Sam's ears were ringing, protesting against the violent music that was bursting through the car. Just as he moved to lower the volume or eject the tape, believing he'd picked up the wrong tape, the sound was cut off by his brother's voice.

"_Well, I couldn't find a more fitting song to sum it all up. I'm going to Hell everybody, literally," _Dean said, laughing maniacally. Sam winced. The tape was going to be about _that_ time. He didn't think he could take any more 'Truth Time' recounts of the times Dean had felt down.

"_So, Dad's dead," _his brother said nonchalantly.

"_Well, actually that's not true." _His voice turned bitter. "_I can't believe I'm saying this, but for a whole year I hoped that Dad was dead, not rotting away in Hell, because of me."_

His brother's voice took a mocking edge, self loathing overshadowing every word.

"_Oh, well. We can't always get what we want. So, back to the topic, why am I going to Hell, you ask? It's because I made a deal to save my brother, Sam."_

Dean swallowed, hard, and he started the next part slowly, almost as if he was afraid of the words leaving his mouth. Sam had to lean close to hear more clearly.

"_I still have nightmares about Sam dying in my arms. That's something that it's not going to magically disappear from my memory. Maybe that would be one good side to going to Hell- no more nightmares. How can you have a nightmare when where you are is a nightmare itself?" _Dean said, letting out a short bark of laughter. Sam could clearly imagine him leaning his head back against the seat, just like Sam was doing now, and staring at the roof.

"_Dad, when I made the deal there were two thoughts comforting me. One was, of course, Sammy would be alive, and the second was that I'd get to see you. I don't know how much of you would've been you but it would've been good to have someone there, you know. To see you. But now you've escaped and gone…hopefully somewhere good, with Mom. Somewhere where there aren't any missions and jobs. Just family."_

He sighed wistfully.

"_I guess, I just want you to know that I did everything I could to protect Sammy. I know I failed more than I succeeded but in the end, I could save him one last time."_

_You should've just let me die, Dean. You should've...you should've just let me go and moved on with your own life. A life without me. _

"_But, I'm going to be there, in Hell, alone and…I don't know what's going to happen in there. Well, that's nothing new. I don't know what's going to happen every time I wake up. But, when some random demon chick or worse, Ruby, takes pity on you, you know you're freaking done."_

Sam feels the phone vibrating and blindly searches for it, tears blurring his vision.

It's Dean, again. He leans his head back and takes several deep breaths before answering.

"Yeah?"

"Dude, where are you?" Dean's voice is worried, frantic, a complete contrast of the resigned confession he'd been hearing.

"What? I can't go out for a ride?" Sam lashes out and immediately regrets it. The silence drags on.

"I'm sorry," the both say simultaneously.

"Are you alright, man?" Dean asks and Sam just wants to throw the phone. Put as much distance between himself and his brother's voice as he can.

"Yeah, I'm good. Dean, I didn't mean…"

"Did I do something wrong?" Dean cuts him off.

"No, no you didn't." Sam said, wiping tears from his eyes.

"Sammy?" Sam was surprised to find that Dean seemed to be internally battling with himself. As if he wanted to say more and was barely resisting.

"Nothing's wrong, Dean. You sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, great. Okay then," Dean coughed, his voice finding its smug tone, "the food should be ready in half an hour or so. Don't be late."

"Dean, man…"

The line was already dead. Sam looked around. Muscle memory had brought him closer to the bunker than he'd expected it to. He could almost see the garage door from afar. He was going to finish the tape and then plan exactly what he was going to say to Dean. He knew he was actually postponing the inevitable meeting with his brother but he allowed himself a minute to breathe, no matter how much he didn't deserve it.

"_I've been fine in the first months after the deal was made. Kind of relieved, actually. I didn't have to worry about dying or what would happen. It was like this brightness was inside my life now that I knew that it was my final year. I got to say goodbye, teach Sammy to go on without me. I was going to die after a year, end of the story."_

Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Despite his obvious intelligence Dean could be so dumb sometimes. How he'd managed to keep himself calm and collected was one of the mysteries that Sam had yet to figure out about his brother.

"_Well, maybe dying isn't the correct term for what's going to happen to me, but who cares, right? Same difference. I've always known that I was bound to go to Hell, and at least Sammy is safe this way. Something good came out of my pitiful existence. I even got one year to live."_

Sam couldn't stand any more of Dean berating himself over and over again, and had to resist the temptation to just turn the cassette player off.

"_But, getting one year as a bonus also meant that you could feel the time ticking away. I almost envy Dad. He didn't even get one full day after making the deal. So, he didn't have to have nightmares or wake up sweating his ass off because he saw…he saw Sam killing him or worse…"_

Dean paused. His breath quickened and he changed the topic quickly. Whatever his brother was planning to say, Sam doubted it was anything pleasant.

"_I hated Dad for what he did. The pain I felt for his death, the time that I only suspected what happened was nothing compared to when I found out the truth."_

Sam knew that Dean didn't take John's death well. None of them did, but Dean kept blaming himself, internalizing the pain and keeping it inside himself, letting it fester away, letting it haunt him at every turn, every opportunity.

"_Now, it turns out that when humans stay in hell for a while they turn to demons. That all these demons we've been hunting had at first just been humans."_

_Dean, no. You wouldn't have become a demon. How could you think that? Even if you did, I would've saved you, found a cure or something. I would never give up on you. How could you give up on yourself?_

"_I'm terrified. I'm terrified of going to Hell. See, when I said that I didn't deserve what Dad put on me, and I don't deserve to go to Hell, it was just a pure burst of adrenaline. Now I can't get that feeling. I can't even believe that I said that. It felt good but now I feel ashamed of it feeling good. Dad died for me…No, Dad went to Hell for me and that's how…" _

Dean's voice faded, cutting off, and Sam could hear Dean trying to find the words to continue.

"_All that's left after that whole Dream Root ordeal is this choking fear and nightmares of becoming a demon. It's different each time but it always ends the same. Either I kill or attempt to kill Sam and Bobby exorcises me…or Sam is the one exorcising me. I can't wipe the look of hate on their faces from my mind," _Dean said, his voice pained. Sam never knew what had been going on in his brother's mind. He never knew what happened that night when Dean changed his mind and started fighting to get out of the deal.

"_Is that what's going to happen to me? Dad was still _Dad _when he got out, but will I...Will I even get out? Do I even want to get out, knowing what I'll become?"_

"Dean," Sam whispers. The utter hopelessness resounding through the tape is a constant reminder of the year of Dean's deal, that period of grey where the sun shining was a mockery to the desperation and fear that surrounded them, and Dean's belief that he couldn't be saved was an underlying echo.

"_So, that's going to be my last chance to say goodbye. As a human. This tape would be the last remainder of me. I need to know that once upon a time a part of me lived as a human, not so normal, but still a good life. Before I go and become who knows what. I'm going to put all these tapes, this Walkman away…away from Sammy, away from future me. I'm going to surround it with devil traps and bury it in Lisa's backyard," _he sighed, completely resigned. Sam couldn't help but think about what it felt like for Dean. The whole burying his tapes and Walkman ordeal. Did it feel like burying a part of himself? Did he feel like the only time he'd been honest was lost, rotting away in the one place he thought he'd found bliss?

"_Mom, I…I hope you're still proud of me. Now I don't have even a smidgen of hope that I will ever see you again. So, goodbye...Mom, Dad, Bobby…and Sammy."_

At that point the tape stopped, his brother's voice replaced by a static noise. When the speech started again, Sam could tell by the difference in Dean's tone that he'd had to stop the tape.

"_Sam, kiddo, take care of yourself and just…kick ass, you know? Make me proud."_

The tape ends and Sam has to take a moment to catch his breath and calm himself down. He was more than aware of the valuable time slipping away.

He had to practice now. He had to be nothing but perfect for the most important speech he ever had to give-forget college, lectures and presentations, this, _this _was what mattered.

He'd get back to the bunker after parking the Impala. Where would Dean be? Either researching or setting the table. Sam could sneak in and put the tapes back inside their boxes…what were the chances that Dean would clean his room and find the tapes were missing? But no, he already did that yesterday. Sam smirked at the mental image of Dean in his typical cleaning gear, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans that they hadn't managed to get the blood off, with a cloth wrapped around his head so his hair wouldn't get dirty.

He struggled to focus as his thoughts started to slip away. He searched in the dashboard for a piece of paper and pen to set up his plan.

Ten minutes later and Sam had come up with a list of scenarios sorted by probability, and corresponding reactions. Many of them ended with Dean punching him in the gut and leaving or sulking in his room, not coming out for days. Those were the ones Sam wanted to avoid.

He'd start out slow, not accusing, never accusing. He'd used the same techniques as if Dean was a Wendigo…or a Dragon, get close, starting with small steps, never landing the final blow until you're close enough. If you mess up in the middle, just go with your instincts.

Sam killed the engine and braced himself against the steering wheel, taking long deep breaths.

_You can do this._

_You have to._

Sam squared his shoulders and pushed the door open, getting out of the car.

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**A/N: Oh, no. What have I done? What's going to happen now? The next chapter is by far my favorite one and would be posted in two days, tops. Reviews are very much appreciated.**


	11. Chapter 11: The Sun Burns

**Chapter 11: The Sun Burns**

**A/N: Hello, guys. The much anticipated Sam meets Dean scene is here. I'm so nervous to find out what you think of it. So, just write me a review and tell me what you thought.**

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_Life goes on_

_But I'm gone_

_'Cause I die_

_Without you_

_Without You/ RENT_

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Sam enters the bunker, taking quick, long steps. He feels like he won't be ready. Not in a million years would he be ready to confront Dean, but he can't stay silent any longer.

Here goes nothing.

The bunker is quiet. Dead quiet. For a scary moment Sam's mind runs through a thousand scenarios he doesn't have the courage to imagine.

Dean's found the tapes.

Dean took off.

Dean's hurt hi...

Sam doesn't dare to, he can't finish that thought and he runs down the rest of the stairs, only to find no one there to greet him, despite all the unnecessary noise he'd made. He's contemplating going back to the garage and checking the cars, see if they were all there.

Then he hears it.

_Chop._

_Chop. _

The sound is coming from the kitchen and Sam is barely able to catch his breath as he sprints, and he's panting harshly, although he knows it's more from panic than from any sense of fatigue.

_Chop._

Suddenly Sam wishes he'd agreed to the takeout. He all but runs to the kitchen.

Dean's back is to him and he's chopping carrots, by the looks of it. Sam breathes out a sigh, relieved that Dean hadn't fled.

"Hey, Dean. Would you please sit down? There's something I want to say to you," he starts, just like he'd practiced not five minutes ago.

Chop.

"Dean?" he asked tentatively.

Chop.

Sam's instinct tells him that something is definitely wrong...

"Dean, drop the knife," Sam said, trying to make his voice commanding, authoritative, but it comes out as a plea.

There's a hitch in the rhythm of 'Chop, chop' and that's when Sam sees it, the moment his brother's hand stilled. There's a red angry spot pulsating on his brother's forearm, just above his wrist, that he was sure wasn't there before. He would've noticed the ugly…burn.

"Dean, did you...b-burn yourself?" he chokes.

Dean picked up the knife again and started chopping almost savagely, nicking his finger in the process. Sam could see a few drops of blood colouring the carrots but Dean doesn't seem to notice or care.

Sam makes himself take two careful steps in his brother's direction. He watches as Dean slowly turns around.

"Where are my tapes, Sammy?"

Sam's world stops after the question leaves Dean's mouth. His own mouth moves on its own accord, trying to form a response. A lie...anything.

But Dean goes on. "I knew I should've gotten rid of them. Sentiment. The damn sentiment made me keep them."

He takes a few steps forward, looking like he wants to throttle Sam.

"It's not funny, Sam. This prank…whatever it is, just stop it."

It's not a prank. I wish it was, big brother.

"You don't know what you're messing with," Dean said incredulously. Sam steals his gaze away, trying to wipe the guilty look he knows is plastered on his face.

But the action is enough for Dean to understand. A look of comprehension slowly dawned on Dean's face and he moved away, his back now pressed against the counter.

"You do know, don't you?" he said in a small voice, barely a whisper.

Sam wordlessly reaches for his pocket and placed the tapes on the table. When Dean saw them, his eyes went wide, his mouth shaped like a perfect O. He approaches, inspecting each one silently, never saying a word. Seconds dragged on, each one seemingly longer than the last.

"Did you listen to them?" Dean breaths.

"I-I..." Sam starts.

One look at Sam's face is enough answer for Dean.

"And these are all you listened to?"

Dean has him pinned with his gaze and Sam can't help but nod.

"Why did you listen to them, Sammy?" he said, his voice weak.

There's not a single hint of accusation or rage in Dean's voice. Just hurt… and fear.

"I'm sorry that I did. But, we need to talk…"

"No, we don't," he said, shaking his head.

"Yes, we do," Sam disagreed. An amused smile creeps onto Dean's face at his response. The way Dean stands there, with an almost crazy grin and a knife in his hand, sends chills down Sam's spine.

"Dean…drop the knife," he said in an even tone.

"What? Do you think I'm going to kill myself with this? Just take this knife and draw it on my wrists like a…like a loser?" Dean tells him mockingly, carelessly twirling the knife.

"Please…" Sam begged helplessly.

"No, Sammy. You wanted to know how much of a lunatic I am. You wanted to know what's going on inside my head."

"Okay, then. Tell me," Sam challenges, trying to work up any last pretense of courage. His hands are shaking. He balls them to fists, knuckles whitening.

"I'm not going to slit my wrists. Stabbing works better. It's quicker. More painful," Dean said matter-of-factly, rolling his eyes. Sam gaped at him.

"Dude, I'm kidding," he said, with the hint of cockiness that he'd always use to assure Sam he's alright.

But, there's a knife in his brother's hand and even though it seems that Dean is barely aware of it, it's all that Sam can think about.

In one swift movement, Sam grabs the knife from his brother's grasp, throwing it as far away as he can muster. Normally he would be no match against Dean in hand-to-hand combat, but his brother is unfocused. Sam is sure the barely-there resistance he'd felt had been nothing but instinct.

They're now standing face to face, staring. Dean looks like he's trying to solve a math problem and Sam knows he looks as terrified as he feels. Sam's trying to make himself smaller, almost reaching Dean's height. Hoping to be closer to his brother physically so Dean would somehow trust him. He can't help but compare Dean with a wild, wounded animal. He doesn't break the eye contact...doesn't dare to.

Dean makes the first move. He tries to stomp defiantly out of the kitchen and he has to circle around Sam to do so. But, one thing that he hadn't calculated was Sam anticipating that exact move, waiting for Dean's attempt to flee. Sam catches him with some effort, circling his hand around Dean's waist. Then, Dean is looking down, refusing to meet Sam's pleading gaze.

Sam doesn't move an inch from where he stands and neither does Dean. He feels his brother's breath hitch.

"Dean, it's alright," he said, his voice soft.

"It's alright?" Dean mouths more than says. Sam is suddenly hit with the intense gaze of his brother, who's looking up at him, unflinchingly meeting his eyes. He's surprised to find them laced with...entertainment?

"Of course it's alright," Dean's eyes glint dangerously, his features twisting, and he surprises Sam by letting out a loud bark of laughter.

"Sammy, Sammy..." Dean exclaims with another laugh, patting his cheek.

Suddenly Dean's laughing. He's laughing like he can't stop. Sam resists the urge to check for signs of possession. Dean scrambles away from Sam's hold and doubles over, shaking with laughter.

"Dean. Dean, are you okay?" Sam's voice holds a note of fear in it, and Dean straightens up. "I'm okay. I'm great, in fact." He smiles, a wide, uncontrollable grin, and starts laughing again.

"Dean, let's talk about this rationally," Sam said, trying to control the trembling in his voice. He puts his hand on Dean's shoulder, trying to break his brother out of this spell he seems to be in. Of all the scenarios he'd imagined happening, this didn't even slightly resemble any of them.

"Sure, let's talk. What else do you want to know?" he asked, mocking Sam. He could see Dean's gaze moving around the room, never settling in one place.

"Didn't you find out enough?" he asks, his voice breaking at the end.

And just as suddenly as it started, the laughing vanished. Dean looked at him and Sam could swear he'd caught a glimpse of the scared little boy inside him. Dean is gasping, like he can't get enough air inside his lungs.

Sam doesn't dare come any closer. He did this. He caused his brother to suffer like this. Now he doesn't have the slightest clue what to do. Dean inhales, a shallow, sharp, jagged breath, desperately trying to make his lungs work. Sam takes a step forward, offering his hand, comfort, support, love, but Dean flinches away from it.

When Sam says, "Dean," it's more like a plea. Because he's begging Dean to let him help, let him see.

Dean looks down at the ground and makes a feeble attempt to escape again and when this time Sam catches him, he just...collapses. The fight leaves him completely, draining away in a heartbeat.

Sam takes his brother's tense, rigid form in his arms, the aftermath of two hours listening to tape after tape confessing his need to die catching up with him. He couldn't stand Dean looking so lost.

"W-why? Why did you listen to those w-worthless tapes?" Dean's words are muffled in Sam's shirt and he weakly punches Sam's chest, and at the same time clutches at the front of his shirt, tears soaking through the fabric.

"I'm sorry," Sam said softly, rubbing Dean's back in what he hoped was a soothing motion. He could feel the words hanging awkwardly between them.

"I-I d-don't...I-I j-j-just..."

Sobs wrecked Dean's body with a brutal force.

"Hey, hey. It's okay. We don't have to talk. Just let it go."

And with that Sam's left with an armful of Dean crying so hard on his shoulder, trying to but not quite succeeding to make it stop. Sam's terrified that Dean is about to pass out. Because Dean's curled up and holding onto Sam like he'd never find his balance again...and Sam has no idea what to do other than rock back and forth slightly and softly murmur _'Shh, shh'_ in his big brother's ear.

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**A/N: What did you think guys? I'm so so excited and nervous. if you'd be so kind and tell me what you thought of this chapter you'd make me very very happy, not to mention relieved!. Well, yeah! Pretty please with a cherry on top review? The next update probably won't be coming out any time soon due to several projects I have to complete, but I'll try my best to update quickly.**


	12. Chapter 12: The Breeze Warms

**Chapter 12: The Breeze Warms**

**A/N: I am so glad about all the positive response I got for the previous chapter. This chapter is the longest chapter of this story so far, but it's more a kind of a filler and I hope you enjoy it.**

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Some days, things as simple as waking up and putting on a smile seemed like a challenge of their own. Now that they had somehow permanently moved in to the Men of the Letters' bunker, their days had somehow gotten boring. No scary monsters to kill, no police identities to fake.

Dean knew that when he didn't have work to do, thoughts would flood his mind...bad thoughts. And that was never a good thing. He would start thinking about Dad, Bobby, all the people he couldn't save. Every mistake, every failure. And then, he'd have trouble breathing and the smile he had mustered would turn into a miserable grimace. There were some days Dean wanted nothing more than stay in his bed and just be left alone. He'd bury his head under the pillow and continue to wallow in a black hole of despair and self-pity,just going over and over the things he failed to do, analysing his mistakes, letting the voice in his head tell him how worthless he is.

Some days he'd feel nauseous all over. Not just in his stomach. In every part of him, and the days that he felt sick there was nothing he wanted more than sleep, a reprieve from the attack of sensation that he knew he couldn't take. Those days, he'd get in the Impala and drive, not wanting to cope with Sam's searching glances and enquiring questions. He didn't want to show him how weak he felt. So he covered it up, pushed it down. But it was like a disease, waiting, lingering, and striking at his weakest moment.

He wasn't trained to show any feelings. Quite the opposite, he was specifically told to rein them in, not to let them get in the way. A moment's hesitation could get them killed. Emotions were too messy, too time-consuming to deal with. Just push them down, and don't let them influence you. It had been drilled into his head repeatedly, until the lesson stuck. And some moments he had learnt that the hard way.

So he never told anyone about his outlets. How there were some moments when he'd just let himself feel.

That day started the same. Dean struggling to get out of the bed, to swallow past the annoying lump in his throat. He had to go and prepare breakfast soon, or at least set up the coffee machine, before Sam woke up. It was a routine that had existed since he was a kid and routines were what kept Dean alive.

When Sam came back after his morning exercise, he'd start on his usual,and favourite activity;reading. It was the only thing that kept him fully occupied, and Sam was in geek heaven with the library they had. He'd start with reading an old, ratty book, taking notes and use an extra nerdy method for future reference. Sam tried to explain what that method was but Dean had covered his ears and started singing loudly.

After a simple, quick breakfast-Dean wasn't in the mood for food-they each went their own way to continue their usual morning activities. Sam went on having the time of his life with his books, and Dean started an adventure of his own, exploring the ups and downs of the bunker. He'd started making a mental map of the place, but still, he found something new everyday. Today, he'd found a door, which led to another door, which led to a hallway that led into the biggest oven he'd ever had the pleasure of seeing. He almost passed out at the thought of all the food he'd get to prepare. It was something that entertained him, even for a short period of time. And cooking calmed him down. It was something that he'd be able to control. Normally his cooking extended to making something edible and Sammy-approved out of the leftovers, but he realized he liked being in control of the food, the amount of ingredients he would add and his love for cooking and baking was born. Of course, there weren't many options to choose in the motels, but now that they'd found a somewhat permanent home, it was different. They were factors that were known, that he could manage. And even though it was temporary, cooking was a peaceful reprieve in his hectic life. The thought of getting to bake filled him with joy and he almost ran towards the main room, immediately informing Sam of this discovery. Sam didn't seem as excited as he was but that didn't succeed in ruining the mood.

Dean drove to the nearest supermarket, glad to have a purpose. He bought all that struck his fancy, whistling all the while and ignoring the looks of surprise he received from other customers there.

His good mood didn't seem to last long as he entered the bunker.

Just as he called out to Sammy, he was hit with a memory. He remembered the pies his mother would make and how they tasted. The happy moments, little Dean and his mother, dancing around the kitchen, playing and baking. When Dad would come home, he'd praise Dean for being a good boy and helping out his mother. John would kiss Mary and pat Dean's head and would comment on how delicious the kitchen smelled. Then, he remembered, years after that, the shitty meals they had with their dad during their childhood, the scarce times they saw Dad.

As he started remembering more, he grew wistful, saddened that all those good memories were gone, dead, just like their participants. He wondered if it was really worth it to stay alive, while memories like that would never happen again.

It seemed that happiness was just eager to find some way to get sucked out of him. Dean wanted nothing more than go and fix himself a drink, or do something completely unproductive, but he was stuck with sorting through the grocery. He tried to put the smiling, happy exterior back on when Sam entered. He noted that Sam looked a bit distracted and brushed it off as Sam being more engrossed in books than something as essential as food.

His suspicions returned when Sam offered to have a beer and then doubled when he quickly exited, mumbling an excuse about leaving for a drive. Sam leaving the books for a drive in Impala? Well, that's not something that Dean imagined happening unless...unless something bad had happened.

As the door closed with a loud bang, Dean didn't feel up to cooking any moreand after shuffling through some pages of a book, he headed back to his own room. He scowled as he saw it was spotless and he didn't have to clean it. He was bored, and having nothing to do was making him restless.

Sam had been gone way too long for a 'quick drive'. Dean hadn't been alone in the bunker with absolutely nothing to do for this long and he was bored out of his mind. He called Sam, using the excuse of asking what he preferred to have for lunch as a cover. He half expected his brother to call him on his lie and make a jab at his clinginess, but he didn't. He couldn't help but feel a sense of wrongness settle inside himself at his brother's inattentiveness.

His feet dragged him back, face to face with the first shelf, where his Walkman, the keeper of his deepest, darkest secrets, had a special place. He cursed himself for leaving the Beatles tape back in Impala. He was in an insane mood for listening to some nostalgic songs and reminisce, letting a stray tear or two run down his cheeks.

"Hey mom," he started, feeling that familiar burn in his chest. "It's so good to talk to you again like this. So, good news, I guess. We have a home now. No more moving. Can you believe it?" he said, laughing to himself.

"This was all I wanted my whole life. Having a permanent roof over our heads, somewhere we could call ours. But, I imagined Dad being here. I longed for you to be here too. Sometimes, when I'm cleaning the room or folding the clothes, I remember you and how you used to make everything, even doing chores fun. Like I was playing a game."

Flashes of memories ran through Dean's mind and made his throat close up.

"Mom..."

Dean pressed stop. He couldn't talk any more. It was occurring more and more, his mind going completely blank. Recording his thoughts was proving to be a more and more difficult task with each try. He hadn't made a new tape in about a year or so, because his mind was full of the images of all the mistakes he'd made, all the deaths he was responsible for. Where should I even start? Jo? Ellen? Bobby? Sam's soullessness? Cas?

He chose to listen to some of the previously recorded tapes instead. But, when he reached for the second set of tapes, he was in the mood to hear himself talk about his suicide attempt, he found out that the tape container was empty. He checked the rest frantically, finding out that some of them were empty as well.

Sam's taken the tapes.

It's just a prank. His mind tried to calm him down, but it didn't have the desired effect. He picked up the phone and called Sam again. What did he do that made Sam decide to start the prank wars again?

Calm down, boy.

Routine, routine is what's going to keep you alive.

His suspicions were confirmed as Sam picked up the phone and replied defensively to his careful inquiry. Something was wrong and Sam was hiding something from him. It was clear as the day.

"Did I do something wrong?" he said and he could feel his voice break.

Sam pretended not to know what Dean asked him, but the damage was already done. Sam had the tapes, and he felt guilty about it.

Sam didn't usually act this way. The kid thrived on talking about emotions and how Dean was coping. He just liked to talk and bond and bring out that soft side in Dean that he'd tried to hide all the time. Dean hung up quickly after that. He needed a game plan.

He walked quickly out of his room, listening absent-mindedly to the thump of his boots against the ground, trying to distract himself, trying not to let panic overwhelm him.

He would ask Sam about the tapes, he decided, fear and anxiety shrouding him for the briefest of seconds, until he pushed them away, determined to be calm when Sam came back. He needed something to while away the time, and keep his mind and hands occupied.

He picked up the knife, starting on lunch, chicken soup, he decided, on a whim. He started chopping the tomatoes, chicken, green peppers. He refused to let the tears fall as he started on onions. He was chopping carrots when a distant noise registered in his mind.

He saw his tapes, his stupid tapes, full of confessions, each one detailing how little he believed he was worth, how much life had chipped away at him, and how he wanted to die, in his brother's hands, saw him putting them gingerly on the table. He inspected each one carefully, making sure it was all. Trying to find out if they'd been listened to, see if there was a sign that would let him know. Not knowing was killing him. His nerves were frayed, and he was on edge.

He couldn't meet Sam's eyes. Didn't want to know what he would see there.

He heard Sam talk but he couldn't focus on the words. He had trouble controlling the flow of oxygen to his lungs. Dean had to go, he had to leave. He was in no place to be able to do something complex like brushing it off, snarking and tricking Sam into not believing what he'd heard was true. That his brother...the man he'd looked up to...had been nothing more than a scarecrow. Completely empty and fake. He tried to escape the room, get out of the bunker, town, state..he hadn't decided which yet, but Sam caught him and Dean couldn't fight any more.

Next thing he knew he was crying like there was no tomorrow. Actually, that wasn't true, he'd experienced the Apocalypse first-hand and he hadn't as much shed a tear. Well not at first, at least.

As if to make the matters worse, and Dean knows it's a bad idea, but he clutches at the front of Sam's shirt, not intending to let go any timesoon, needing the physical proof that Sam was there, that he wasn't alone.

The hurt, all the pain, seemed to choose this exact moment to make their way into his soul, tearing, clawing at the surface until he could feel how raw and chafed he was. His eyes burned and he tried to wipe the tears away, but he could feel himself stumbling and losing his balance, and Sam catching him, supporting most of his weight.

In the back of his mind, he could hear Sam talking but he wasn't focusing on that. He was giving all he had to control the flow of the tears. But, it seemed that his eyes had a mind of their own and the force of the tears left Dean breathless.

"Dean?"

Sammy's scared. That's what brings him back. That's what gives him balance and keeps him grounded. Sammy needing him was his cure for everything. Even his new fit of waterworks seemed to stop at the thought that he was scaring Sam.

Dean could feel his efforts to snap out of this moment starting to work. He realized that he'd stopped crying and he lifted his head from Sam's chest with some difficulty. How did it even get there in the first place? He closes his eyes, gulping down hard. His throat feels scratchy and raw.

He could feel Sam shaking his shoulder, trying to get his attention. He leant his head back, marvelling as it hit something soft. A pillow? He couldn't, wouldn't, open his eyes to check. Opening his eyes meant all this was real, that he'd broken down like a kid.

"Dean?" Sam asked again, but Dean let his voice fade away into the background, slipping inside the darkness.

* * *

**A/N: Reviews make the updates so much faster and bring me so much joy :) Review please!**


	13. Chapter 13: The Girl Smiles

**A/N: Might be triggering for discussing self-harm topics. I just want you to know, that I'm in no way glorifying self-harm or suicide. If you're under a certain age or don't like it, you may want to skip this story from now on. **

* * *

Sam felt the terror settle deep inside him. Dean had been crying and mumbling intangibly under his breath for a while now. And it seemed like he wasn't going to stop.

"Dean?" He called once, concern and fear apparent in his voice. He held onto Dean tightly, not caring that his arms had fallen asleep. Dean didn't show any signs that he'd heard him and that scared Sam the most.

"I-I-I should've ju-just died."

Dean's pain seemed so tangible, so real, that Sam felt his heart break all over again.

"Shh, Dean. I got you. It's okay. It's alright," he said in a soft voice, rubbing circles on Dean's back. The action seemed to make things worse as the sobs hitched and started anew.

He tried to settle Dean more comfortably against himself but when he attempted to shift his head, Dean clutched to him feebly.

"Don't le-leave m-me," he begged.

"I'm not leaving you, big brother. I'm never leaving you," he said, trying to assure him, but it seemed that Dean was trapped inside his own head and couldn't hear him.

Sam calculated the best route to get somewhere to sit down so he could work better on getting Dean out of his near hysterical state. The chairs where they usually sat to work on cases were the nearest and Sam made an effort to get Dean to move.

"Dean, snap out of this, man," he snapped, frustrated, and immediately regretted it. He had no right to ask Dean to stop. He was entitled to, he deserved to let himself go, and it was Sam's job to look after him in this fragile state.

He finally decided on a couch in the small living room and got Dean to sit down. When Dean refused, Sam gathered him in his own arms and slowly positioned Dean, setting him down gingerly.

"Easy there, Dean."

"Dean?" he asked carefully, and gasped as he saw Dean attempt to respond to his voice. It felt odd to let Dean move away from him, but Sam loosened his hold on his brother.

Dean leaned away and slowly rested his head on the cushion, eyes closed the whole time. Sam was tempted to bring his brother back in the best way he knew how. But slapping someone who was already crying, especially when that someone was his brother, Dean, wasn't something that Sam could easily do.

"Come on, Dean. Open your eyes."

Ever so slowly Dean's eyes opened. His eyes were red and swollen. His lower lip was bloody from biting too hard and he looked just about ready to collapse. He looked up to his brother tentatively, unsure what Sam was planning to do with him. It broke Sam's heart beyond repair.

Dean lay his head back on the cushion. He looked helpless and so lost, his hands playing nervously with a thread on the couch. Staring at Dean's hands, Sam remembered the burn his brother had inflicted on his skin. He debated running out to get some bandages and ointments, worried about the risk of infection, but just then his brother moved, facing him directly. Sam gulped hard.

It's now or never.

"Do you want to tell me what this is?" Sam asked, his finger just barely grazing above the mark Dean had carved on his forearm. Dean flinched away and Sam hurried to steady him before he fell off the couch.

"It's none of your business," his brother spat.

"Dean, it's alright. I'm not going to judge you."

Silence followed for a long time. Nothing but Dean's jagged breathing.

"Why did you do it? Why did you listen to them?" he asked with so much betrayal in his voice that left Sam breathless.

"I'm sorry for invading your privacy," he apologized formally. He could see some of the old fire return to Dean's eyes upon his words.

"Damn right you should be sorry."

Sam hung his head, feeling guilty and ashamed.

"If I wanted you to listen to them, I would've told you so," Dean's voice got louder and Sam made himself smaller, not ready to face his brother's rage.

"You waited just like a little thief for me to go and then decided to listen to them," he scolded.

"But-," he made an attempt to explain himself but Dean was having none of that.

"You lied to me when I asked you what was wrong. You got me thinking that I messed up."

"Dean, you're deflecting. You can't get out of this. We've got to talk about what's going on with you, man."

Dean shoved him harshly. It caught Sam by surprise and before he could brace himself he fell off the couch, landing on the floor on his butt. Dean looked more shocked by what he'd done than Sam.

"Dean, please?"

_Let me help you. Let me know what's going on with you. I want my brother back._

Dean's anger vanished quickly and sobs took its place. Sam hurried to get up and hold him and after struggling weakly for a short time to get free, Dean couldn't protest anymore.

"I-I-I ha-hate you," Dean said, taking quick, short breaths.

"No, you don't," Sam replied softly, patting his back like he'd do to a small child.

"I don't," Dean agreed and leaned his head against Sam's chest, drawing comfort from the steady thump thump of his heart.

"What did I do to deserve this?" Dean said quietly, and while Sam had a feeling that he was talking to himself, he couldn't stop himself from answering.

"Nothing, Dean. You didn't do anything wrong."

Sam had lost the track of the time. Dean had scrambled away from his hold and he had closed up, refusing to talk or even acknowledge Sam.

"Dean, man, please," he begged. But, Dean wouldn't even look at him.

I did this.

He drove Dean away, and now who knows what would happen in the next days.

Thinking of a world without Dean was enough to drive Sam into a frenzied state, and before he knew it, he was on his knees in front of Dean, his hands on Dean's lap, tugging him, trying to get him to react.

When he opened his mouth, trying to say something, he came up with nothing. His entire frame started shaking and he opened his mouth uselessly.

"I made you sad," Dean observed wistfully, brushing away Sam's too long hair off his face. That soft, familiar touch left Sam gasping. What was he supposed to do without it?

"Hey, hey, Sammy. It's alright," Dean hurried to assure him. He pressed Sam's head in the crook of his neck and tightened his hold as Sam all but fell apart at the knowledge that his brother hadn't abandoned him.

"I'm sorry, kiddo. I didn't mean it, okay?" he said softly, trying to convince him, trick him into safety, into more lies, but Sam wanted to ask, what was it that he didn't mean? The tapes? The depression that consumed him? Hurting Sam with angry words? Or the fact that Sam's found the tapes?

"I'm alright, Sam. I swear, it's nothing you should worry about."

Sam didn't let himself be fooled by Dean's comforting words, but he still appreciated it.

"Tell me why there's a burn mark on your arm," Sam asked. Dean sat up straight and Sam looked at his eyes pleadingly.

Please.

"I-I..."

Dean buried his head between his hands, his voice wavering.

"I just want to d-die, Sammy."

"How long was this going on?" Sam tried not to let Dean's words affect him. If he showed weakness, Dean would brush it off, like he'd done so many times.

"A couple of years," he said abrasively.

"When exactly did you start doing this?" he insisted and watched Dean get a faraway look on his face.

"I..I was fourteen, I think."

Fourteen...

"How?" Sam gasped.

"Dad said that I would never be a good hunter if I didn't learn to control pain," Dean recalled.

"Dad made you burn yourself?" Sam asked incredulously.

"No, after that time that...that I caught fire," Dean said and Sam gasped. "I should've died, Sam. I should've burned."

Sam picked up Dean's hand, inspecting the burn closely. He was shocked by the savage way it was done. He would've wanted to destroy whatever creature who'd done this to his brother. But, that was the main problem. There wasn't any creature. There was no other enemy. It was Dean, destroying himself.

"Why did you do this to yourself? This is serious. We should treat it."

"No it's not. I've had worse," Dean tried to brush it off but he was wrong if he assumed that the reassurance made Sam relax.

"How often?" he asked.

"Not so much," he replied.

"What did you use?" He forces himself to look at the burn more cynically, trying to see what instrument could cause this damage.

"Lighter," Dean sighed, his hand unconsciously moving to his back pocket. Upon seeing Sam's grief-stricken face, he elaborated.

"At first it was matches. I would light them and see how long I'd be able to take it. Then it was campfires, candles, and when Dad gave me my first lighter, it was that until...until now."

"Why burning?" Sam's trying to see past the grey haze that's overwhelming him. He needs to know, needs to understand.

"Mom burned," Dean stated simply. "I deserve to burn."

"No, Dean. Why would you ever think that?" Sam's voice cracked, and he looked away to hide the tears gathering in his eyes.

"When you were little, and I was a kid, Dad used to say...he used to say,"-he couldn't continue but he pushed through the pain, desperate to make his brother understand-"he used to say how he'd rather he'd have burned instead of Mom and then I thought...this family would be nothing without Dad, but maybe if I..if I..." Dean fell silent.

Sam's heart aches, pounding viciously in his chest, but Dean's eyes are open and he's brittle, as fragile as glass. So he doesn't say anything, instead letting the silence speak for him.  
His eyes drift, and they land on the burn once more. He waits, lets Dean grow comfortable, lets him drop his defences.

Maybe Dean was the only one that could rebuild his mental walls. But this was physical. This was something Sam could help prevent.

"Dean, you need help."

"With what?" Dean muttered distractedly.

"Your issues. This... self-harming."

"No, dude. I'm not a chick with issues. I'm not self-harming."

"You are, Dean. You are bringing harm to yourself and...and it's got to stop."

Dean started shaking his head, but Sam cut him off.

"You're hurting and you keep on punishing yourself. You know the damage this would do to your skin?" he told Dean angrily.

Dean knew, Dean saw what burns did to skin.

Now that Sam thought about it, during most of the jobs, Dean would start treating Sam's injuries before his own. Sam thought that it was some sort of big brother responsibility Dean had drilled into his own mind. But what if it was also because he enjoyed and craved the pain it brought?

"I don't care, Sam. I don't care. At least this way, I can stop feeling like I'm a bad person. You don't understand, Sam. This is the only way I can finally, really breathe."

Dean looked away, eyes wandering, searching.

Sam's breath caught in his throat. His hands shook, and he clenched them to stop the tremors, inhaling slowly. His eyes were sorrowful as he whispered, "Just, relax, okay? I'm right here. We'll fix this, " he said softly.

Sam waited until Dean's eyes drooped closed and then he stood up, mentally going through their medical supply. He wondered if they had any ointment left to treat the burn.

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**A/N: Reviews are very much appreciated.**


	14. Chapter 14: The Cloud Moves

**Chapter 14: The Cloud Moves**

**A/N: Wow, guys. Thank you so much. I'm just speechless by how well this story is received. I've never expected that from my first try at multi chapter at a new fandom. You guys gave me so much confidence and you're all beautiful, every one of you reading this. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise, okay? **

**Enough chick-flick moments! Let's get this show on the road.**

**Special thanks and big virtual hugs to _The-blackfirewolf, TheUltimateMexican_and my lovely _fallingangelsandstars_ for reading over this chapter.**

**Similar to previous chapters, this one also includes mentioning self-harm and suicidal thoughts. So, if it's not your thing and it can get triggering for you don't read it please. **

* * *

Sam took a glance at his brother's resting form on the couch, trying to reassure himself that his brother was safe, breathing and alive. He then moved purposefully to the bathroom, searching the shelves for some gauze wraps and some Band-Aids. On second thought, he took a look at the lowest shelf, where they kept creams and ointments. His suspicions were confirmed when he found the tubes almost empty. Sam felt himself going into shock. How could he have missed it? He thought, for the thousandth time that day. He grabbed the little that was remaining in the tubes.

Sam couldn't believe he was doing this. He'd patched up his brother many times before. Had gone through the routine, but this time it was different. So different. He took the equipment and headed to the kitchen to make a cool compress and prepare a salt solution. He didn't want to risk Dean getting an infection and he doubted that he had taken proper care of his burns. His brother was impatient when it came to taking care of his own wounds.

That was when he heard a loud scream coming from living room. He dropped the bowl of salt water and hurried towards the sound.

* * *

Dean was tossing and turning, trying to find a cool spot on the couch to soothe his aching head.

Sammy's leaving him. He's found out what a loser Dean is.

Alone. All alone.

Why is it so damn hot?

Dean scrambled out, his legs intertwined and fighting the invisible battle against the cushions on the couch. He felt hot, yet so cold. His eyes suddenly opened, taking in his surroundings. Sam wasn't there. He promised he wouldn't leave but the room was now empty. Sam had waited until he'd fallen asleep before putting as much distance as he could between himself and Dean.

He was alone. All alone.

"All alone," Dean chanted to himself over and over again, his fingers pressing on the burn mark he'd stupidly made. Sam finally had too much of his insanity and left him.

"Sam!" he screamed, a desperate, lonely cry.

* * *

Sam watched his brother struggle in that balancing state between being asleep and awake. He sat beside Dean, taking in his sweat drenched face. Dean was mumbling to himself, tossing and turning in his sleep.

"Hey, hey, Dean. Calm down, man," he said in a soft voice, something that before today he could never associate it with his brother.

When he was sure that Dean was asleep Sam quickly went into the kitchen and brought back the medical supplies he'd prepared earlier.

When he entered the living room again, Sam saw that Dean's shirt had hitched up and he could see old scars littering his brother's stomach. They were all on a straight line and each one a perfect circle. It took a few beats before Sam could make the connection.

Those are cigarette lighter burns.

He let out a sob as he kneeled on the ground and dabs Dean's arm with cold compress, adding some of the salt solution he'd prepared to the edges of the burn. Then he wrapped the area with gauze. It was a second degree burn and he could see the horrible blisters that were forming. Dean groaned in his sleep and Sam halted his movements until he heard his brother's snores. It wasn't everyday that Dean was such a heavy sleeper, and it made Sam wonder how many sleepless nights his brother had before that day.

Sam was working his way towards the scars on Dean's stomach, applying the ointments he'd brought with himself, when suddenly, Dean spoke up.

"Why are you doing this?" he whispered after Sam applied some Vitamin E to the fading scar on his stomach. Sam was startled that his brother was awake and alert.

He didn't answer immediately. He was trying to memorize the calm look on his brother's face.

The words bubble out without his contest, wanting to assure Dean; to bring him out of his depression in any way he could.

"I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I'd prefer if you stayed happy and healthy," Sam said.

His brother smirks a little.

"That's a little romantic," Dean replied. "No wonder. One look at you and people assume we're gay."

Sam lightly slapped Dean's shoulder. Trust Dean to turn this moment into a joke.

Dean nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose in that sense, I always considered myself fortunate."

Sam thought of all the hardships Dean had faced; had been facing since he was just a little kid. He was a little surprised at the sudden positive attitude Dean had taken, so he can't help asking. "Fortunate? How?"

"Whatever happens, I do get to spend the rest of my life with you," he smiled softly when Sam looked up to him.

Sam lost it then and there.

"Don't ever say that," he said brokenly.

When Dean doesn't answer, Sam gathered his brother's hands in his own.

"Talk to me, please?"

"About what?" he says and tried to set himself free of Sam's hold and pleading gaze.

"About those tapes."

Immediately, Dean's face turned defensive and lost any undertones of content he previously had.

"I was just a kid," Dean tried to reason with him.

"Maybe you were a kid when you started recording, but you continued, didn't you?" Sam said.

Dean didn't reply.

"Let me tell you what I think."

That got a response from Dean. He raised his eyebrows, a silent challenge.

"You're suicidal." he stopped Dean from interjecting. "Yes, you are. And if there was some doctor that wouldn't send us both to the loony-bin the moment you opened your mouth, I would've taken you straight to the psych ward."

Dean let out a huff in disbelief.

"I still think you should see a therapist. We'll make up a story," Sam's voice takes a pleading tone. "Or a psychiatrist! At least once a month to prescribe you some pills. I'm begging you!"

"I'm not having this conversation with you. I'm not some fucked up chick that needs-"

"I went to therapy," Sam interrupted.

Silence dragged on for a few beats.

"When?" Dean asked through clenched teeth.

"When I was in Stanford," Sam admitted. "Jess suggested that I try it. After leaving you and Dad, I wasn't in the best place."

"I'm sorry Sammy, I didn't know," Dean looked stricken, causing Sam to mentally slap himself. He hadn't said this to make Dean guilty. In fact, that wasn't his intention at all.

"So, you see, maybe it could work for you," he tried to steer the conversation back to where it was supposed to go. To help out Dean.

"You don't know me at all."

"Well then, tell me!"

Dean opened and closed his mouth for a few times, unsure of what to say. He looked around, as if trying to find answers or seek some help from the walls.

"You know what I think?" Sam tried to push Dean into talking, "I think you were messed up the moment the fire happened. Maybe you decided to push it down so that no one could see it, and over time this hiding became so intense and painful that you even hid it from yourself!" he went on, pointing a finger to Dean.

"But, it wasn't enough! You didn't feel enough, that's why you tried to kill yourself. And my God! I can't imagine how horrible you felt; how you justified getting rid of yourself by burning. Then, as time went on, you expressed your pain in a different, more silent way and it turned into self-harming! We never knew, neither me nor dad. You decided to carry it all by yourself! This has got to stop!"

Sam waited expectantly for Dean to say something, but he was met with disappointment.

"I don't want to talk about this."

Dean jumped up from his seat and marched out of the room with angry steps. Sam hurried to follow him. Dean headed to the nearest room, which was an empty guest room Cas usually used and, before Sam could do or say anything, he locked the door.

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**A/N: *gasp* What's going to happen now? Reviews and any kind of suggestions are very much appreciated.**


	15. Chapter 15: The Tides Change

**Chapter 15: The Tides Change**

**A/N: This chapter is dedicated to all the lost souls, the survivors, the families and friends of those who are struggling. I know it's a trivial, almost pathetic token, but you're not alone.**  
**Special thanks to _fallingangelsandstars_, _TheUltimateMexican_ and _KlainebowsHallowsRumbleroar_ for reading over this chapter.**

* * *

_And I might still cry_  
_ And I might still bleed_  
_ These thorns in my side_  
_ This heart on my sleeve_  
_ And lightening may strike_  
_ This ground at my feet_  
_ And I might still crash_  
_ But I still believe_

_ This is the moment I stand here all alone_  
_ With everything I have inside, everything I own_  
_ I might be afraid_  
_ But it's my turn to be brave_

_Brave / Idina Menzel_

* * *

_Dean headed to the nearest room, which was an empty guest room Cas usually used and, before Sam could do or say anything, he locked the door._

Sam was painfully aware that he was pouting. He stared at the offending piece of metal that separated him from his brother. Unlocking the door wasn't a hard task, in fact it was fairly easy, seeing all the rooms were centuries old. While Sam could open the door in front of him in his sleep, he didn't want to do it. It would only push Dean farther away.

So instead, he sat, letting the wooden door support his weight for a few moments, hesitating briefly, before knocking.

"Dean?" he asked tentatively.

"Leave me alone," Dean grumbled.

_Okay, don't panic._

Sam could hear some sounds coming from behind the walls that sounded almost like Dean was hitting something against the wall. He started pacing in front of the closed door and begging his brother to open it up. His pleading were only answered by silence.

The younger Winchester said sadly, "Listen man, I just want to help. Will you please, please, just let me take care of you for right now? Like you do for me?"

Figuring his brother wouldn't answer, he sighed and turned to walk away, but then he heard a faint click from behind him. He couldn't contain his glee and ran to the kitchen and then Dean's room. He had a plan.

* * *

Dean took a break from banging his head against the wall and stared at the door sullenly. He vaguely wondered why Sam wasn't picking the lock, but then shrugged, thankful that he wasn't. His gaze drifted, and he inspected a crack in the wall, willing it to open up and swallow him whole.

He didn't want to go outside and face Sam. He couldn't.

He didn't want to have this huge spotlight focused on him and his emotional and mental state.

He didn't want to bare his soul; didn't want to open up. It was easier to lie, and to go on pretending that everything was alright.

The bravado of being the stronger, untouchable one was wearing off and Dean didn't feel like he could hold on very much longer.

_"Listen man, I just want to help. Will you please, please, just let me take care of you for right now? Like you do for me?_" he heard Sam pleading and his heart started beating rapidly at the sound of his brother in anguish; an anguish that he'd caused. Should he go out, open the door and embrace what was horrifying him the most?

His head was starting to hurt from all the thoughts attacking his mind. So, he picked up the lighter, clicking the familiar button and watched the flames. He let its mesmerizing light take away the thoughts and make him numb and almost cozy. It was almost painful to look at the flames and it was the only consolation he had for now. Now that Sam had caught up on his habits, he couldn't do what he normally did when he was feeling like this. Trapped, aching..._itchy_.

He gave the lighter one last click before getting up and unlocking the door. It was up to Sam what he did now.

Sam didn't burst in immediately, adamant to hold his hand and maybe even sing 'Kumbaya'. Dean felt a cold fear settle inside him as he heard the sound of footsteps moving away from him.

_Sammy is leaving him._

_He's alone, all alone._

He turned back to the bed, weariness suddenly overwhelming him. And it washed over him, the knowledge that everything had suddenly become too much, that he couldn't hold on to anything. He grabbed the nearest object next to him, needing an anchor, something to hold himself down and keep him grounded.

_It was too much. Everything was too much._

Dean buried his head in the pillow, wishing he could slip away from all the pain.

* * *

Sam opened the door to see his brother was lying in the bed. What was unexpected was Dean seemed to be hugging a pillow, _Cas's pillow_, to his chest and his shoulders were trembling. Almost as if…

"Dean, are you crying?"

The broken and vague murmur he heard from the bundle sprawled in the bed, only confirmed his suspicions.

There was something _wrong_ about seeing his brother cry. Dean, had always been the strong one, the cheerful one. It was so unsettling to watch the man who had brushed off near fatal injuries and come across all kinds of heartaches, never wavering, come undone.

Sam was tempted to curl up right next to Dean and hold him until everything was alright. He didn't know how to handle this, he never had to since Dean took care of himself, of everything. And Sam, awkward as it was, just did what he thought would help and hope that it would do his brother some good.

"You didn't have any lunch, so I brought you some," he said as he laid down a plate full of the chicken soup and a pack of M&Ms he'd hidden from Dean in his closet. Sam proceeded to the next part of the plan.

"I'm going to take the weapons off the shelves, alright?" he informed softly and was surprised when he saw Dean nod ever so slightly.

It took two trips but he soon finished his task. A thought crossed his mind and he held his hand out expectantly.

"Lighter," he ordered.

With a loud sigh, his brother slowly presented the lighter from his back pocket. The numbness in Dean was worrying Sam, but the younger was glad his brother was cooperating and not actively planning to take his own life.

"I know you don't want to talk to me," he scrambled the objects from his pocket, setting them in front of Dean's reach, "and I respect your wishes. I just...I'm here for you, alright?"

Sam watched as Dean stared blindly at the wall before him, trying to blink away heavy tears in his eyes. The younger sighed as he walked towards the exit.

"I love you, big brother. Never forget that," he whispered softly before closing the door behind him.

Sam heard a loud crash coming from the room, followed by another. It took everything he had to keep his promise and not run and open the door and see what was wrong, or try and make it better for Dean.

For the past hour he'd been worrying himself sick, trying to keep his promise and let Dean process the information and come to him when he was ready. He'd tried pushing him into confession and it had failed, miserably.

One thing was sure, he couldn't do this alone.

* * *

Dean stared, disappointed and angry at the Walkman in front of him on the floor.

Sam had ejected the tape he was listening to before and now it contained a blank one. Sam wanted him to express himself, record his voice.

As if in a trance, he picked up and assembled the pieces, inserting the blank tape.

"I don't know what to do or how to feel anymore. Please. Just please."

_Tell me what to do. Help me._

Dean swallowed heavily and continued.

"Sam, this is for you. This is everything that I couldn't say straight to your face. See, dude, I wasn't made the way you want me to be, all open and emotional. I-I can't. This is my way of not falling apart. And I'm sorry, so so sorry."

* * *

"Cas, would you, umm, please come down here for a sec?" Sam closed his eyes and murmured under his breath. As an afterthought, he added, "It's Dean."

A whoosh of air sounded right across from him and Sam opened his eyes to see the angel staring right at him expectantly.

"What seems to be the problem, Sam?" he inquired as Sam struggled to find the words.

"It's Dean. He's..umm, he's suicidal."

"I know," Cas nodded, his face calm.

"How did you? Did he tell..."

"I have walked in a number of times when he was recording his messages. I caught a few words here and there," the angel replied, looking surprised at Sam's emotional outburst.

"And you never thought of telling me?" Sam said incredulously.

"Why would I tell you? I knew he wouldn't act on these...feelings. The righteous man's death wasn't supposed to be by his own hands. Now the situation has been altered so it might not be in effect anymore."

Sam took a deep breath and mentally calculated the distance and the time it would take should he need to run to reach Dean.

"Not helping, Cas," Sam grumbled.

"I do not, however, understand the necessity of the action. Why talk out loud to a cassette player with no plan to let anyone hear it when you already have the thoughts in your mind?"

Sam sighed, "You've got a lot to catch up on, dude. You suck at interpreting human emotions."

"I do not understand." Sam watched as Cas's eyes went wide, tilting his head, his voice rough and grave.

"Just, watch over him for a while, would you? I'm going to go get some...fresh air," Sam told, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He needed to go research and talk to someone more professional at handling this stuff.

"I will," Castiel promised.

And with that, Sam left the bunker.

* * *

**A/N: Your suggestions and reviews are a great help to this story and talking to you amazing people is without a doubt, an honor.**


	16. Chapter 16: The Boys Run

**Chapter 16: The Boys Run**

**A/N: So, kinda bad news guys. I'm hit with the worst writer's block known to humankind *sighs*. So, this is the last chapter that I've written so far. The next update? Not gonna happen any time soon. I'm sorry.  
**

**On the bright side, I'm pretty proud of how this chapter turned out and it's one of my favorites. I hope you also like it.**

**Big hugs and virtual cookies to _KlainebowsHallowsRumbleroar _and _TheUltimateMexican _for helping me out with this chapters. You're the best, guys.**

* * *

"The highest potential for suicide is not when a person has hit rock bottom, but when they're just starting to 'get better'," Sam nodded, even though he knew the person behind the phone couldn't see him.

"If you or your brother need help, Sam, you know where to find me," said the kind woman on the other side of the line, sounding concerned.

"Of course. Thank you, Doctor Adams," Sam replied gratefully.

He'd filled out several pages of his notebook with information he'd found from reading books in the library and talking to his former therapist.

Sam cursed himself for choosing pre-law to study. With their family history and the line of job, it was better if he pursued pre-med or psychiatry. But, he wasn't exactly thinking of family when he left for Stanford, was he? If he was thinking of his family, he would've noticed Dean slipping away, among other things.

Their normal status had changed, Sam knew this much. Not that they ever fit any category of normal, but changes should happen. There has to be a new 'normal' between him and his brother.

There was a page he'd filled with doodles of "Medication" all over it, accompanied by exclamation and question marks. Will Dean be safe and stable to hunt? Should they take a break from hunting? Would he be able to convince Dean?

There were so many triggers. Hell, they faced demons on a daily basis. The same type with the potential to kill quickly and easily, just as they did to their parents.

The younger Winchester knew that all of the fighting had taken a toll on his big brother. He had seen it in the way Dean drank a lot, in the way he sat in silence more and in the way he had frequent nightmares. Sam often saw Dean thrashing around in the night, but he knew his brother would play it off if he tried to say something. This had become normal for several years now. In fact, it was almost hard to remember a time where Dean had ever been carefree.

Thinking back, Sam remembered a memory from almost 20 years ago. John had left them in a town where a huge play center, with arcades and shooting practices and a bowling alley. Every day, Dean would drag Sam there and they would play. Dean had still yet to reach that annoying stage of obsessing over girls and their rack size, so it was awesome. When they'd run out of money, Dean would score the biggest prize in the shooting game and sell it to a snot-nosed kid.

At the time, Sam believed that there was nothing that Dean couldn't do. He was Sam's hero. He would watch as Dean deftly pressed the buttons and groan in frustration when he lost a round. He would beg for having a go and would obey Dean's directions.

And to Sam, he was the coolest big brother ever.

Now, it was his turn to take care of his brother. To watch out for him, keep looking for the signs. And most importantly show and prove to Dean how much he was wanted and loved.

* * *

"So, Sammy, I'm sorry. I felt betrayed, and downright scared. Sometimes I still dream about when you were gone. And every freaking time it's my fault. I know, "

Dean continued on, so lost in his head that he didn't notice the added weight to the bed.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel greeted, suddenly appearing beside him, sitting inches away from Dean on the bed.

Dean jumped and scrambled away. "Shit, Cas! Don't do that!"

"I was under the assumption that this was my bed." the angel puzzled.

"Well you know what they say about assuming."

Castiel, however, remained clueless.

"It makes an ass out of you and me."

"I don't understand. How does one-"

"Just forget it, Cas. Go in my room and do whatever freaky angel business you were going to do." Dean rubbed his eyes with his fist, much like a small child would.

"But you've already assigned a room for me. Why should I move to another?" Cas asked, obviously confused with Dean's responses.

The older Winchester threw his hands up in exasperation, "Because I'm hiding from Sam, okay?"

"But Sam is not here. He's gone out to get some air."

"Did he take any car keys?" Dean scooted over on the bed, letting his best friend shift closer while maintaining eye contact.

"No, I don't believe he did."

Silence settled as Dean pondered over that little piece of information. Who knew whatever Sammy was up to?

"Why are you unhappy, Dean?" the angel questioned, sounding a little patronizing.

"I'm not unhappy! Give me a break, man!" Dean groaned.

The two sat silently for a few minutes, before Cas declared thoughtfully, "I'd miss you, you know."

"What?" Dean asked, not sure if he was hearing right.

"I did raise you from perdition, thus giving us a special bond. So yes, I would miss you and you are important to me. I wouldn't want you to bring yourself any harm."

"Thanks, Cas," Dean gave a small, sad smile. He closed his eyes, folded his arms, and laid his head back on the headboard.

"So would Sam," Cas said and, ignoring Dean's disbelieving look, continued, "Before I rescued you from hell, I noticed that Sam was very upset."

As Cas said this, he let his eyes rest still on the guy next to him.

Dean opened his eyes again and scoffed loudly, "He had a grand old time with some woman! And not just any woman, but that bitch Ruby!"

"Yes, but Sam still missed you terribly. He always knew, too, that it was never your fault when he got hurt. Sam was just following the example set by his brother: 'be courageous and help others. And think of all the people you saved'. I'm sure that they needed you, and still think of you."

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, a little uncomfortable with Cas still staring. He guessed what Cas said was true, though. How many more people would be dead if it weren't for him and Sam hunting? And Sammy… Dean knew his brother missed him, he really did. It just got lost in the arguments and killings.

"Why is an unknown liquid here on my nightstand and what are two W in this packet?" Cas stated, breaking the tense atmosphere, unaware of Dean's inner monologue.

He chuckled, "That's supposed to be my lunch, according to my brother."

"Would you please eat then?" Cas insisted.

"Fine. Anything to get your feathery panties out of its twist," Dean threw his hands up in surrender and made a show of putting the bowl in his lap and taking a bite.

* * *

Sam entered the bunker, feeling refreshed and a new set of plans in his mind. Researching always made him feel useful and was a great way for him to calm down.

He heard a sound that he thought he hadn't heard for a while: Dean was actually laughing. Sam followed it back to Cas's room.

"How could you assume that the nurse and that doctor where engaging in sexual activity?" Cas asked, ever so cluelessly.

"Doctor Sexy threw her on the bed and next morning they got up together. It's a TV-show, dude. It can't get clearer than that," Dean explained patiently, but Sam could hear the undertones of amusement in his voice.

"I preferred the pizza man video. I could understand the dynamics better."

"You kinky little thing," Dean teased.

"Hey there," Sam decided to inform them of his presence. Two sets of eyes were fixed on him.

"Cas, could you please excuse us for a moment?" Dean broke the silence by looking over to Cas.

"Sure. Take care of yourself, Dean," came the reply before Cas disappeared from the view.

There was a tense silence before Dean started first.

"Man, I'm sorry. I don't know what happened to me. I'm so ashamed of how I acted today. It was like I was inside a trance and these stupid tears came at the littlest thing. I'm sorry for scaring you. It just-," Dean scrambled for more explanations, but Sam held up a hand, silencing him.

"I'm sorry you felt that way, and I wish I could have helped you. I'm sorry I didn't realize you were in such pain. I can't imagine how bad you must have felt," the younger man pleaded, "Dean, I want to help you, tell me what I can do to help you now."

"There is this one thing that umm, I wanted to show you. It's probably stupid and-" the elder brother started rambling and Sam steadied him by putting a hand on his shoulder. The action seemed to calm down Dean considerably.

Dean took a deep breath and wordlessly motioned for Sam to follow him. He grabbed his Walkman and ejected the tape, putting it in Sam's hand.

"This is for you."

"Dean…" Sam said, as soon as he found the words to talk. He felt so overwhelmed. "I want you to listen to it with me," he added.

The other brother spluttered, "Wh-what? Why?"

"It's not helping you if I listen. We both need to hear it and talk about it."

"Okay," the older brother said, settling in a chair, thus forcing Sam to sit on the bed.

* * *

"I just know that when I feel like I messed up and I wasn't fast, strong or smart enough, the pain is the only thing that keeps me grounded and calms me down. Talking like this also helps, you know. I just want you to know that I love you, Sammy and I promise, no matter how hard it gets, I'll always be around to take care of you."

With that, the tape clicked, alerting the end of the recording.

Dean was looking down, playing with his fingers and trying to keep the tears from rolling down, while Sam was staring sadly at him, his own eyes wet as well. Dean had wanted to flee the room a couple of times but was held down by his brother's pleading gaze.

_You stupid jerk...you always know exactly what to say...the right words to make me cry._

The younger took the Walkman gently out of Dean's hands.

"Mind if I keep this for a while?" Sam asked, twirling the tape thoughtfully.

"Sure. Knock yourself out," Dean replied nonchalantly, but Sam could see the sparkle beneath his shiny wet eyes.

* * *

**A/N: Please, please, please review! Hit me with ideas, suggestions, complaints...anything. Writer's block just sucks. Hope to see you soon. Take care.  
**


	17. Chapter 17: The Oceans Crash

**Chapter 17: The Oceans Crash**

**A/N: Well, I'm back! This has to be my shortest writer's block ever and it's all thanks to you guys. Your kind reviews and thoughtful suggestions managed to inspire me and I succeeded in getting back my muse. Thanks a bunch to my wonderful readers, _cyenthia 30 , superchiwo, ncsupnatfan and Detective Kid1412 _and I used your ideas in this and next chapters. I can't thank you enough.**

**Special thanks to TheUltimateMexican and KlainebowsHallowsRumbleroar for reading over this chapter. I couldn't have done it without you guys.**

**This chapter has a slightly different style. I hope you like the change.**

* * *

Sam finally convinced Dean to take two weeks off the work. They'd informed fellow hunters that they had 'personal' business to take care of. The brothers laid off the usual morning routine of surfing the internet and browsing through newspapers for anything that had the possibility to be _their _kind of weird.

"So, what now?" Dean asked, his voice baffled.

"I don't know. What do you want to do?"

"How about some tango?" Dean said mockingly and Sam made his patented bitchface at him.

"You know what," Sam interrupted what he was sure would be another teasing comment, "I have the perfect idea."

* * *

"Dude, we should've made some pie. This stuff is too easy, I'm cringing here," Dean complained, twirling the spoon in his hand as he waited for Sam to finish beating the batter.

"It's nowhere near easy, Dean. I swear, this flour is freaking possessed! I can't get it to mix with the rest of this goo," Sam said disgustingly, poking at the blob of flour.

"Because you had to add milk to it, dumbass, so it would dissolve. I swear, I don't understand how you survived college without starving or turning to cannibalism. Though I believe cannibals do cook their food."

"One word, Dean: cafeteria," he replied patiently.

A few moments passed in silence when Dean spoke up.

"Mom used to make cupcakes. I know the recipe, but no matter how many times I try, it's never as delicious as hers."

Sam felt a lump in his throat at the sudden willingness of his brother to speak about their mother.

"Dean, I'm pretty sure it's 3/4 cup of sugar and that's not the amount you measured. In fact, you put two cups."

"Relax, Samantha, you're not going to get zits," Dean teased, but he smiled gratefully at the change of topic.

"Two cups, Dean..." Sam sighed, knowing that the battle was lost as soon as Dean dumped the sugar inside the bowl.

"Cheer up, Sammy boy. Maybe some vampire would take it easy on you because your blood was too sweet."

"Gross, dude," Sam said.

"You know," Dean chuckled, "I remember this one time, you were four months old, I think. Mom had made some kind of cake and it was so delicious. I put some of it in your mouth and let you lick the icing. When I went to show my achievement, Mom was panicking and getting you to spit it out. You haven't even been fed anything but milk up until then."

"Do you mean to say that my first real food was...cake?"

"Yep, I was responsible for many of your firsts. Remember that hot chick in Nebraska? You're very welcome."

"Dude, shut up," the younger brother said, his face turning red. Dean shrugged and went on mixing the contents of the bowl with spoon.

"I'm baking a cake...bake a cake...cake to bake," the older one hummed under his breath.

"What were my first words?" Sam asked, curious.

"Deee," Dean said, mimicking and laughing loudly at his brother's stunned expression. Sam's heart warmed at the sound.

"Eggs," his brother ordered, not looking up, holding out one hand with the other still mixing the contents of the bowl to a creamy white.

Sam distractedly tossed the egg, which landed on Dean's hand with a loud splashing sound.

Dean didn't say a word, he just wiped his hand with the apron- yes, he made them wear aprons and some weird plastic hats- and went to the refrigerator to grab three more eggs. He broke two into the bowl and after mixing, poured the batter inside the pan. He did all those in an unbreakable silence.

"Dean, I'm so sorry," Sam said, horrified, but Dean didn't say a word as he passed him to the oven and put the trays inside.

Trust Sam's klutziness, of all things, to ruin the day.

Dean then grabbed the egg and, with a moment of deliberation, stood in front of Sam. He then proceeded to break the egg on Sam's unsuspecting head.

Sam let out a loud scream, a very _manly _scream of course, as he felt the sticky substance sliding down his hair and getting in his eyes.

That was what started the most epic food fight the Winchester brothers had ever had. Flour on the walls, egg yolks flying through the kitchen, and Sam had a decent amount of sugar shoved inside his clothes. He could even feel it in his underwear. Dean was no better; he smelled like a dairy store, with milk and butter poured over his clothes and icing sugar smeared on his face.

The ding of the oven put an end into the fight and they called a- temporary- truce.

The end result was two trays of cupcakes with pink icing and sprinkles.

"Dude, the icing should be pink," Dean had explained earlier as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

They had an early lunch or late breakfast, munching on cupcakes and gulping down apple juice, _because of course there should be apple juice,_ Sam reasoned.

When they were finished, Dean leaned back, smiling and Sam conveniently forgot to tell him that he had a pink moustache.

They were soon finished and sprawled tiredly on the chair.

"So, what now?" the older one asked, looking expectantly.

"I think it's time to apply some Vitamin E to your scars," Sam reminded gently.

However Dean didn't whine or sulk. He just nodded once and a corner of his mouth lifted in a smile.

"Yes, sir," Dean mock saluted and both brothers flinched, the gesture reminding them of their father.

Sam took a glance as his brother rubbed the cream to his stomach.

He hoped that this little vacation would help him and Dean recover from the tense days they had and let their bond heal.

* * *

Dean knew that once he agreed to taking two weeks, _fourteen valuable days_, resting, he was in deep shit. Hell, originally Sam was going to make it a month of 'Sam and Dean: Happily Ever After', but Dean had argued against it and successfully decreased the days of torture.

He only agreed to it to get Sammy off his back. He knew that Sam wouldn't stop worrying about him and he didn't want that. He was _fine. _So, what if he had to act extra cheerful and pretend to do some 'share and care' for fourteen days, it would get Sam to relax and maybe stop looking at him like he was a ticking bomb.

"Running? Seriously, Sammy? That's your idea of time off?" Dean groaned as Sam woke him up Sammy-style, that was, sitting on top of his unsuspecting sleeping form and jostling the bed.

"It was either that or meditation," Sam replied solemnly.

"Meditation is for girls, not to mention boring," his brother told matter-of-factly.

"You make farting sounds," Sam complained.

"Did I mention it was _beyond _boring?"

"Come on. Get up. Exercise is good for you."

"Getting laid is good for you too. Might help get that stick out of your..."

Sam threw Dean's shoes at his general direction, which hit his stomach.

A few cups of black coffee later, they were jogging aimlessly, their pace relaxed.

"Remember Dad used to always make us do laps?" Sam told, testing the waters of his brother's mood.

"Oh, yeah. The pain...the horror," Dean said, smiling. He was in an oddly cheerful mood, Sam noted. He chuckled.

"Shut up. You were a huge pain in the ass," Dean misinterpreted his laughter and reached to slap the back of Sam's head, but the younger brother easily dodged.

"But I remember that I always won," Sam said, speeding as if to prove the point.

"Only because I let you," Dean reasoned, easily catching up with him.

"Oh, really?" Sam raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah, believe it or not you were a real bitch when you lose...still are, in fact."

"Oh, is that so?"

"You bet," Dean quipped back.

"Race you to the bunker," Sam challenged, taking off.

He could hear his brother laughing as he ran. He saw the familiar turn in the road that indicated he was near the end.

Dean tackled Sam, just as as he was reaching the steps and the younger brother went down, smashing his face into the concrete.

"I win," Dean declared, panting heavily.

Dean was having a very good dream. It didn't happen often, so he relished in it.

He supposed he had to give it to Sam. Getting him to workout had managed to make him too tired to drown in dark thoughts, and he fell asleep almost immediately.

In his dream, it was Sam and Dad were inside a diner. Dad didn't have that bitter look on his face, and Sam was...well, Sam wasn't fighting with Dad and was smiling, which that was something that mainly happened in fantasy.

"Did someone order pie?" a sweet voice asked and to Dean, it sounded like Heaven.

As soon as he saw the pie placed in front of him, he was shaken awake very enthusiastically.

"Dean," whispered an excited voice, "You up?"

The older Winchester groaned, "_Now_ I am. What do you want at- son of a bitch, Sam, it's three in the morning!" He blearily looked up at his brother, who was holding two beers.

"I wanted to show you something earlier, but it was too cloudy," Sam said sheepishly, giving Dean his foolproof "puppy-dog eyes".

Dean sighed. He could never say no to that face. "Fine, just give me five minutes, and then I'll go wherever you want."

"Meet me on the roof!" Sam grinned, tossing the beer to his brother before walking away.

The elder brother smiled softly at Sam. The kid was trying so hard and, he admitted to himself, was succeeding in lifting his spirits. But shouldn't they do something that wasn't so...complicated and at such a ridiculous time… like a strip club!

Dean sluggishly got out of bed, threw on some pants, washed his face, and headed up to the roof.

He had to admit, he was surprised. The roof was normally barren and chilly, even in the spring. Instead, there were tons of pillows and blankets thrown up there, as if it was supposed to supply Bed, Bath, and Beyond. There were no lights, but the sparkling stars easily lit the rooftop.

"So, I thought we could do a little stargazing, unless that's too girly for you." Sam joked, standing up from an unseen corner.

"Dude, you did all this? This is awesome!" Dean exclaimed. He wasn't about to admit how sweet he thought it was, but his brother probably got it.

The younger reached down to the ground and tossed a pillow to Dean. "C'mon and take a seat. Pillows don't bite, you know."

The still sleepy man chuckled, but sat down with his brother. He looked up at the stars above, slightly in awe at their magnificence.

Sam pointed to a cluster of stars, "That one over there is Ursa Major, the great bear."

"That doesn't look like a bear to me. More like a random bunch of stars." Dean snarked, his eyes twinkling like the constellations above.

The other brother shook his head. "Well, it did to a bunch of Greek guys, so I guess that's what counts here."

"The Greek guys were more like geek guys. And they sure were high," Dean told, staring skeptically at the collection of stars that looked nothing like a bear.

"They actually had this whole myth behind Ursa Major, involving Zeus…"

"Wait, wasn't there also something called Ursa Minor?"

"It was indeed," Sam said in his typical teacher voice, the one he used when he was about to give a useless speech about something that Dean didn't really need to know.

"Were they brothers?" he asked, his voice a bit melancholic.

"No," Sam replied, risking a glance at Dean quickly.

"Oh," he said lamely, disappointed. To break up the awkward atmosphere, Dean pointed to another direction.

"What's that?" he asked, "that big shiny thing."

"Where?" Sam asked, completely interested.

"The white-ish half-circle thing," he addressed, finger stubbornly continuing to point.

"That's the moon, Dean."

"Ooh, the moon," Dean exclaimed innocently.

"So, as I was saying," Sam said, fixing his brother a mock angry glare, "The god Zeus was..."

Dean sipped his beer and zoned out. It was nice being with his brother in a moment of calm and serenity. As much as the man loved hunting, he liked stepping back for a while to enjoy the ride. He had felt it with Lisa, where his worries were about picking Ben up from school on time instead of ganking demons. Dean reopened his eyes and tuned back into what Sam was saying.

"... and that one is something that you would rather die than be."

Dean tilted his head a little in confusion.

Sam picked up, "Virgo, the virgin."

The older Winchester laughed. "You know me. Thanks, man."

"For knowing you? You practically raised me, Dean, of course I know you," the other replied, hoping that Dean would realize the deeper meaning of his words.

"Sam," Dean said, grabbing his brother's shoulder, "Thanks."

Sam gave a knowing smile and returned to pointing out the stars.

"So do you want to see your Zodiac sign?"

"Sure!"

"Well, you can't see. Capricorn isn't visible in spring. But you can see Libra," Sam said, and Dean punched his arm.

"Smart-ass," the elder Winchester muttered.

* * *

The next day Dean got Sam to work with him on some of the cars in garage, and Sam got Dean to taste a healthy lunch. As a revenge plan, Dean dragged him to the nearest strip club. Although he claimed not to have nearly as much fun as he had with Castiel, Sam could notice his brother was pretty happy and seemed to be enjoying himself. So, he shoved whatever uncomfortable feelings he had aside.

Their phones and laptops remained turned off and it was such a relief, knowing that their temporary bubble of happiness wouldn't burst by a sudden news of death and destruction.

In short, the first three days passed with minimum fuss.

But then on the morning of fourth day, as the expression goes, shit hit the fan.

* * *

**A/N: What do you think, guys? Did you like the fluff and brotherly banter? Yay or Nay? What's going to happen in the next chapter? Tell me whatever you can think of! **


	18. Chapter 18: The Crowds Roar

**Chapter 18: The Crowds Roar**

**A/N: Hey guys. Thanks for the positive response for chapter seventeen. I'm extra nervous for posting this chapter. You'll find out why soon enough. I really hope you enjoy it.**

* * *

_When the evening shadows and the stars appear, and there is no one there to dry your tears, I could hold you for a million years to make you feel my love._

_Adele / Make You Feel My Love_

* * *

Sam woke up, his hand automatically going to silence the phone beside him to get five more minutes of blessed sleep. But then he remembered what he was about to do today and suddenly, he was wide awake.

He felt like he was getting ready to go on a battle. His mind was on overdrive, deciding what to do and what line of action he should follow. The best way he knew to get Dean to ease up into the conversation they were about to have, was through food, and Sam had decided to get up early and make some breakfast.

He went over the information he'd gathered over the past few days, and the notes he'd taken from the various sites and forums he'd checked out. He'd stayed up late after Dean was asleep, researching about self-harm, suicide and depression. What they all had in common was that the person had to be under observation for displaying further signs of the illness. Another thing was the root of those problems had to be found out once there was no immediate danger.

Look for possible triggers, the website instructed, but that was the main problem. There were so many. The normal in their lives would probably be traumatic events for other people.

So, Sam attempted to baby-proof the house; that is, taking away any weapons and lighters he could find and locking them up, thus hopefully ruling out any chance of Dean suddenly deciding to harm himself in the next days.

Next, Sam had to create a safe, supportive and calm environment. God knows they deserved some vacation. The problem was convincing his brother to agree.

He fired up his laptop in front of a counter, searching how to make pancakes and chatting with some people to get more information first-hand on the matter of mental illnesses. Sam was so engrossed in the conversations that a sizzling sound brought his attention back to real life and the problem now at hand, burning pancakes.

That's when he heard a small chuckle coming from other side of the kitchen and he turned around, burning his finger in the process.

* * *

The fourth day of enforced R&R started out nice-ish. Dean woke up to the smell of something burning and he rushed to the kitchen, half asleep. Well, he'd been woken up to so much worse. There was a distinct burning smell and a slight smoke and he could see Sam attempting but failing to fix his mess. Upon hearing Dean's footsteps, his brother turned around and grinned sheepishly.

"Pancakes?" he said, offering a small plate of different variations from undercooked to burned to crisp pancakes. Dean could see the younger one had set the table, even placing two glasses of orange juice and a jar of honey down on the table.

"Well, you got the orange juice part down," Dean tried to comfort, but he couldn't control himself as he burst into laughing at Sam's expression.

They sat down to have breakfast, and Dean couldn't help but notice that Sam looked nervous.

"So, what do you want, Sammy?" he sighed.

"What?" Sam spluttered. _Damn_. The pancakes only succeeded to make Dean laugh and did nothing to put him in an agreeable mood, much to Sam's chagrin.

"Either I'm dying or you want something. So which one is it? Are you going to say your goodbyes?"

"Don't joke about that," Sam said, angry at his brother's poor attempt at joking. Dean shouldn't joke about dying, not with their line of work or his current mental state. Not after finding out less than a week ago that...too soon. "You're right. There's been something on my mind that I'd been meaning to tell you."

Dean waited expectantly for him to say what was on his mind. He had an inkling- call it a hunter's instinct- that he wasn't going to like it.

"Dean, I want you to consider going to therapy."

"You're joking, right?" Dean snorted.

Sam shook his head and watched as Dean's eyes went wide with realization, as if he'd heard something entirely ridiculous.

"You're not joking," Dean stated, his voice barely a whisper.

"This isn't some wound I can magically stitch up. I wish it was Dean, but it's not. I'm not a professional," Sam said helplessly, willing Dean to understand. "You've got to trust me on this, dude. How can I help you get better if you're not willing to get yourself out of this mess?"

"How can you do this to me? You're my brother and now you're going to sell me out to some shrink?" he looked down, sounding betrayed and avoiding Sam's pleading gaze.

Sam then started talking all that he'd researched. He begged, cried and threatened Dean to try out therapy or go on some anti-depressants.

"What would you do if I had suicidal thoughts?" Sam asked, his last resort.

"Do you want to kill yourself, Sam?" worried eyes washed over Sam and the guilt the younger one saw on his brother's face wrecked him.

"No, that's not what I was going to say. Just imagine it. What would you do?" he tried to steer the conversation back to Dean.

"I-I..." his brother stuttered, not having a witty comeback and his face contorted in misery.

"You would reach out to me. You'd do anything to stop me from committing suicide. Hell, you'd even lock me inside a panic room. But now you are the person who needs help, and you deserve to be treated with the same kindness and love you'd give someone else," Sam said, chasing Dean's gaze to make him look at his eyes.

Dean stayed in a stunned silence.

"You see. I have a point."

"But..."

"Dean...please?"

"Alright, alright," Dean grumbled, moving away from the table to end the argument. Sam resisted the urge to fist-bump the air. He watched as his brother stood up, grabbing the dishes and proceeding to wash them, effectively blocking out Sam's attempts to say any more on the matter.

Sam was left, sitting in the chair, looking at the table, concentrating on the patterns to keep his mind from drowning him in thoughts.

Dean had to understand, this was for his own good. His problems were beyond Sam's awkward and pathetic attempts at help. They didn't have any friends and their father -both biological and surrogate- was dead. That only left Sam to be the one making the choices, for both of them.

* * *

Sam had tried to broach the topic of Dean's tapes with him but Dean had fixed him with a cold stare, never saying anything when Sam talked about it. Sam knew he had to have his patience with Dean, but damn, he was scared shitless.

The first therapist he'd registered was only an hour away, but that hour was full of accusing silence, stifling the Impala so much that Sam had to open the window and let the wind whoosh in and to make at least a small amount of noise.

Dean was being skittish and trying to brush it off. He was nervous, Sam observed from the corner of his eye as he watch his brother ceaselessly drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

Sam wondered if this was going to work, making up his mind that it had to.

* * *

Dean drove in the direction that Sam had instructed, refusing to say a word, ignoring how it made him seem like a sulking kid. He felt like a lamb about to be sent to the slaughterhouse, but there was no way he was letting Sam drive his Baby. It made him feel...trapped and out of control.

* * *

"I-I can't..." Dean stuttered as Sam gestured for him to enter the office. Sam stared in shock and took a step back, taking in his brother's ashen face and trembling hands.

"Dean?" he called, shaking a hand in front of his face.

"I can't go on," he said, barely hearing Sam.

"Come on," he said gently, getting behind Dean and supporting his back, helping him enter. He watched the people sitting there carefully and watched his brother make his way to a chair, leaving him to go to the receptionist and announce their arrival.

Soon, their name was called, and just as soon as Sam was getting comfortable in the chair with the book he'd brought, Dean stormed out and stood in front of him.

* * *

They pulled over in front of the office and sat for a couple of minutes in the waiting room. Then Dean was ushered to the office. The room he entered was decorated in modern, bright lights. His chair was too comfortable; it was making his ass hurt. He shifted uncomfortably.

"So, tell me Dean... Phillips. How may I help you?"

Dean stayed silent, letting his eyebrows raise up and a smirk appear on his lips. _You? Helping me?_

"That man who brought you here, is he your brother?"

Dean merely nodded.

"Your older brother?"

Dean chuckled and he muttered a 'no', before remembering his resolve to stay silent and closing his mouth.

"You're obviously close."

He shrugged in response. No way he was about to talk to this woman about Sammy.

"Do you want to tell me about your childhood?"

Silence.

"What was your family life like?"

Not a single word was offered.

"Did something traumatic happen to you?"

The woman wrote something on her notepad, and Dean wanted to rip it out of her hands and burn it or shred it into tiny little pieces.

"Were you raped?"

Dean choked at that. Where did that come from? He gave her his best 'are you kidding me?' look. She nodded, writing some more on that freaking notepad. Dean was seriously contemplating sticking the notebook where the sun didn't shine.

The ordeal went on for about five more minutes before Dean had had enough. The bitch even dared to give him some prescription and advised to take another appointment once he felt up to it. Dean grabbed the piece of paper and sprinted out of the room.

He couldn't throw away the paper fast enough.

"Let's go," he more or less growled as he reached Sam. "The damn bitch is a clueless banshee."

Until they reached home, Sam had talked his throat raw about the way therapists work and lectured him to give them a chance and maybe he'll warm up to them. He was met with total silence or often, music blaring angrily in his ears.

"Do you feel up to watching some television?" he said once Dean had parked the car. Sam headed to the refrigerator to get two beers and hopefully something resembling a healthy dinner.

"Nah, I'll pass. I'm just so tired," Dean said, speaking for the first time since...forever.

"Of what?" Sam felt the need to ask.

"Nothing, just forget it, Sam. Good night."

_Why did it sound like a goodbye?_

Sam stared pointedly at the clock but Dean wasn't paying attention to him and went to hole up in his room.

"I got you an appointment with another doctor in two days," Sam said, hoping that Dean would say something, feeling dread sweep over him when he didn't.

Sam headed towards his laptop, dinner completely forgotten. He needed to research.

* * *

**A/N: I really appreciate your thoughts and feelings on this chapter. They're crucial to determine how the next couple of chapters will be. Thanks :)**


	19. Chapter 19: The Days Soar

**Chapter 19: The Days Soar**

**A/N: Hello, my awesome readers. It's me again, with a brand new chapters that YOU people have inspired me to write. That's right. Big hugs and kudos to _ncsupnatfan_ and _angellec_ and also all you sweethearts who took the time to leave a review and suggestions.**

**Also a huge thank you to _KlainebowsHallowsRumbleroar_, _fallingangelsandstars _and _The-blackfirewolf _for making this chapter the way it is now! And for putting up with me.**

* * *

Dean turned on the shower, setting the water as cold as it would go. He wasn't exactly unused to taking them, thanks to Sammy using up all the hot water in motels. But today it had another purpose; he was going to pretend to feel alive after yet another sleepless night. He needed it before the stressful day he was going to face.

However, it seemed that even the freezing water wouldn't chase away the numbness that seemed to seep inside his bones. In fact, he lost himself in his thoughts, letting them overwhelm him, and almost didn't feel the time passing.

Sammy wanted him to try out this shrink he'd found, and his voice was so excited- the kid very nearly jumped up and down in anticipation- that Dean couldn't say no. Didn't have the power to. He never had. Not when it came to his baby brother.

* * *

They've been driving for a while now. Dean couldn't shake off the feeling that the road was a bit familiar. It was a feeling that sent cold trickles down his spine, and he fought to shake it , that wasn't odd, he reasoned with himself, he'd basically driven all across the country. So it was normal that some paths would stick in his mind, right?

But, after an hour or so, the highway was so hauntingly familiar and with Sam's instruction to turn the next exit to the right, realization suddenly sprung into his mind.

This was the way to that hospital Sammy, and then Cas, had stayed in last year. With all that Leviathan crap and chasing after Dick, his baby brother hallucinating Lucifer and Cas going… mental on them. It wasn't exactly the place he would miss.

"Is this some kind of payback?" Dean said, his volume rising.

"Hmm?" Sam asked distractedly.

"Are you going to hospitalize me?" he cleared.

"Don't tempt me," his brother snorted in amusement and turned back to the map in his hand, seemingly engrossed. "We should be there in ten minutes."

Sam felt the car sway slightly and was surprised when Dean pulled over after less than a minute. When he looked, he could see Dean had gone white as sheet and was breathing quickly, almost panting.

"Dean, we're just going there to see a doctor one of our friends recommended. Nothing more," he said hurriedly, knowing he needed to reassure Dean.

"One of our friends?"

"One of our hunter friends."

"What?"

"I kinda got in touch with every hunter we know and asked if they came across a therapist who, you know, understands our stuff." Sam rubbed the back of his neck, a little embarrassed with asking for help.

"Our stuff?"

"Hunting, Dean."

"Oh," the elder Winchester said. He found it curious that someone with the knowledge of the supernatural helped hunters psychologically, instead of becoming a hunter and having to deal with his own shit.

"He's the best we've got, considering the situation. At least, give him a shot."

"So this isn't some sort of revenge plan for breaking your wall and putting you in that hospital?"

"How is breaking the wall in my mind your fault?" Sam asked rhetorically, but he heard Dean answering nevertheless.

"I couldn't stop you from going inside that cage. I couldn't stop Cas from breaking. I should've called Death and asked for another fix or…"

"Dean, listen to me. None of that was your fault. If anything I should thank you."

"Thank me? What for?"

"For all that effort you've made to get my soul back," Sam stated, disbelief apparent in his voice at his brother's cluelessness. Dean would never realize the profound extent of what he'd done.

* * *

"Hello gentlemen," the kind-looking man in white greeted them. Dean was tempted to turn the other side and run but Sam's firm hand on his back was a warning.

_Behave._

"I guess that struggling man is our hunter, correct?"

"What makes you qualified for…?" Dean gestured vaguely at the doctor.

"For treating patients or treating hunters?" the doctor asked patiently, as if he had received this suspicion many times before.

"Well," Dean hesitated.

"The first part is easy. I studied psychiatry, so I am qualified for giving advice. The second part is, I've seen many of my colleagues and after a while, myself, getting possessed by demons."

Dean remembered Cas smiting those evil sons of bitches before they could get to Sam. He didn't think they would've survived.

"Most of our staff didn't make it and the few who did, resigned almost immediately from work. But I stayed. I took a short vacation to sort out some little things." He gestured to his eyes, and upon closer examination Dean realized they were made of glass. _Dude's blind_, Dean thought in admiration.

"And find out as much as I could on anything supernatural," he continued. "I was lucky to stumble upon a hunter who taught me everything I know now."

"So, you're okay with all this?" Sam asked, a tinge of awe creeping into his voice.

"The last thing I remember is this black smoke forcing itself down my throat," the doctor said, shuddering. "After that it was just flashes of memories, that didn't even seem my own. It was just like I wasn't aware and in control of what I was doing, which, I guess, was the point of the term 'possession'."

"Then you thought it would be good idea to analyze some crazy hunters?" Dean said, and was silenced with his brother's stern look.

"Well, most of my cases are survivors of various attacks. Demonic, more often than not. Hunters are more...complex, if you don't mind me saying. Seeing that many people getting killed savagely and losing loved ones, not to mention the simple lack of appreciation and acknowledgment for what they're doing. No wonder that not many of them get out of this lifestyle unscathed. Of course, it's rare that a hunter decides to grace me with their presence, but I welcome them with open arms."

"You really are something, aren't you?" Dean scoffed. _Was this man even real?_

"The hospital staff think I've gone crazy, after meeting some of my special cases. To tell you the truth, I guess they gave me this office out of pity. Oh well," he shrugged. "Enough about me. So, Dean. Shall we proceed?" The doctor gazed at him and although Dean knew that he couldn't see, he could swear he saw a glimmer of curiosity lighting the man's face.

"Okay," Dean said in a small voice and after throwing one last wordless, pleading glance in Sam's direction, went inside the little room with the doctor.

As soon as they got inside the semi-dark room, filled with books of various types, the man lifted up his sleeve and turned to the general direction of Dean.

"Go ahead. I know you want to do it."

"What?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"Prove that I'm human. Go on," the man encouraged, raising his arm and Dean released the breath he'd been holding as he went through the usual drill, feeling relief as he confirmed he was dealing with a human, nothing more. It was something that bothered him a lot after meeting a stranger.

"Dean, what's gotten you so tired?" he asked once Dean was seated in the chair.

"With all due respect, I don't feel comfortable getting interrogated again."

"What are you so afraid of?" he asked, and he sounded so genuinely concerned that Dean couldn't find it in himself to throw in a witty comment.

"Honestly? Of not being able to picking up the pieces afterwards," he sighed.

"Would you please explain more?"

"No, I won't. Look, man. I'm fine, really. You should take a look at my brother, though. The stuff that kid has in his head…" he chuckled.

"Then why did you attempt suicide?"

"Dammit Sammy," he groaned, "this is ridiculous. I was just being stupid."

"Dean, I know you have led a hard life. I'd be willing to listen to you, whenever you're ready. But, that doesn't mean that I don't think that it's extraordinary that you've survived this long without any professional help. You should give yourself some credit, kid."

"Thanks," Dean said dryly.

"I don't suppose you'd read some of the books and pamphlets I suggest?"

"I'm not exactly the book-reading type."

"How about I write you some prescriptions and you don't tear them up this time, huh?" he said with a loud laugh and proceeded to write in what Dean noticed, was a special paper. The man held out the piece of paper in Dean's direction and waited patiently.

"So, I can go?" he asked, shocked and a bit disappointed.

"That depends. Do you want to talk?" the doctor asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Not really," he said honestly.

A gleam of understanding crossed the man's face.

"But, you don't want to leave early and leave your brother suspicious, correct?"

"Yeah."

"You're free to stay here as long as you want. Or wreck my office, if that suits you. I don't mind redecorating and there are some vases I've been dying to get rid of." He pointed at his table with a small smile.

"You're a cool shrink, doc," Dean said, and settled more comfortably in his chair.

* * *

**A/N: So, what do you think, guys? How did you like this chapter? *jumps up and down in anticipation* Reviews are like pies and apple juice!**


	20. Chapter 20: The Babies Cry

**Chapter 20: The Babies Cry**

**A/N: I'm really glad that you liked chapter 19 and your positive feedbacks and ideas really helped me to post this chapter sooner. **

**A huge thank you to _The-blackfirewolf, fallingangelsandstars _and KlainebowsHallowsRumbleroar for saving this chapter from becoming a huge mess. I couldn't have done it without you guys.  
**

* * *

"Dean, we've been through this already. Doctor Sparrow is our best bet."

"Give me a break, Sam," Dean exclaimed angrily. "I'm not some nutcase, okay? I don't need you to drag my ass to who knows where to make my problems disappear. I don't need some… bird doctor telling me what to do. He was a total nutcase himself, if you didn't notice. The supernatural totally messed him up. I don't have issues, or whatever the hell you expect me to have." The contempt in Dean's voice was evident, but this was not a subject Sam was willing to back down on.

"Dean, this might actually help. Just give it a proper shot," he pleaded, and the look on his face was so earnest, Dean wanted to punch him...or preferably just die already so he wouldn't have to go through that misery again.

"No, Sam. I don't want to do this. Any of this. I don't want therapy, and I certainly don't want you watching over me all the time." His tone was rough, and his voice was losing some of its edge.

"Dean, I get that you're angry, but listen to me for a second. If you don't want to go back to that therapist, then we can try something else. Maybe-"

"Sam," his brother warned, "if your next word is medication, I swear I'll-"

"Dude, I just want you to stop closing yourself off," Sam said helplessly. _How could he make his brother understand?_

"We are not about to have a conversation about my feelings. Save it for the therapist."  
Sam lit up, like a child on Christmas Day. "So you are going."

"What did I say to give you that idea? Do you not hear me? Have you gone deaf?" Dean asked, shocked and frustrated.

"Dean, please. I can't have you… Let me help, let m-me..." Sam's voice got caught up in his throat and he stumbled forward, and would've hit the floor face first if Dean hadn't caught him.

"Hey, hey, Sammy. It's okay. It's alright. I gotcha. I'll go to that stupid therapy of yours," Dean murmured in his brother's ear.

"T-That's a-a-awesome," Sam yawned, his words slurring.

"Gosh, kid. You're exhausted. Go to bed," the older brother ordered.

"B-But-"

"Now," Dean said, not relenting, and he half-carried Sam to his bedroom.

_The things I would do for you, kid, _Dean thought wistfully as he watched over a snoring Sam.

* * *

Arranging an appointment, out of the blue and without a recommendation was hard. Well, that was an understatement. Sam had tried everything to get the appointment and in the end, it was only due to the fact that one of the patients had cancelled their appointment that Sam had gotten a spot.

He'd hoped that Doctor Sparrow would make Dean open up, make him see that it was okay to confront something he'd never faced before, that it was okay to be afraid. But, if one doctor didn't work out, he wasn't going to give up. He'd try to find the right therapist who'd make Dean better. Because Sam was very nearly at the end of his rope.

The new doctor, Doctor Montgomery, seemed to be quite popular on the internet. His website had received high praises, and it was only a two hour drive to get there. He'd read the extra links the website had provided and came across a hugely informative, illustrating video of depression. He could see the resemblance of the main character of the animation to his brother. He hoped that Dean understood that no matter the reasons, and how unusual they were, the ones that made him the way he is now, there were still people that could sympathize and felt like him. Sam had felt like that part, the ability to talk about his feelings and thoughts and find out that he wasn't alone, made him feel so much better.

If only Dean would stop being such a stubborn ass.

His brother was in a sour mood, and it was proving almost impossible to get him to come along. He didn't want to go, plain and simple. Sam did everything in his power to convince him to give it another try and that if a therapy session didn't work for him, it doesn't mean that he should give up altogether. He even tried bribing Dean with food but was met with a snort and the door nearly slamming into his face.

"Sam, I could feel your sulking from here," Dean said from other side of the door as Sam sat right in front of his bedroom and pondered over what to do. "Go away," he added.

"Dean, I already called the clinic. They're expecting us."

"Well, go there yourself and talk to the shrink, if that's what's bothering you. It's not my fault."

"Please, Dean."

"What's the use?" Dean asked bitterly.

"What do you mean?" Sam did a double take.

At that moment the door opened and he almost fell over on his back. Sam stood up and faced the older Winchester.

"Leave. Me. Alone," Dean gritted through clenched teeth and it made Sam feel like prey, something that Dean sensed he should hunt. He wasn't used to be on receiving end of such stares.

Sam sighed quietly, before saying, "Dean, the more you fight, the longer it'll take for you to start hunting again." That was it; the final line. If that couldn't convince his brother to just get in that stupid, _goddamn_ car already, nothing would.

Not five minutes later, Dean emerged out of the room, fully dressed and with a death stare aimed at him, almost jogging out of the bunker.

"Fuck you, Sam," he said, resoundingly slamming the door of the Impala shut. Sam was suddenly aware of his brother's anger. He'd never abuse his beloved car like that.

The drive went in a tense silence and with Dean grunting in reply of Sam's instructions.

Once they reached their destination, Dean had thrown the door open, leaving Sam to lock up the car. By the time Sam got to the office, Dean was already walking in. Sam had no choice but try to awkwardly settle in a comfortable chair and hope for the best.

_Please have him listen,_ Sam chanted like a mantra over and over to himself. He could barely read the book, a basic guide on PTSD that he had brought with him, and would glance every now and again at the door, expecting his brother to storm out of the room, announcing that he'd knocked the therapist out.

It was going to be a long hour.

* * *

It was the third day of "getting the suicidal brother some help," and the doctor of the day was a bearded, tiny little dude, who could barely look at him from his chair.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Hudson?"

_I feel so..nothing. That everything is pointless and I don't even care, but it still hurts enough to feel like my chest is being carved up. Ok, that's depressing. But basically I think I'm losing it._

Dean looked at the man as if he was born mute.

"Would you like some coffee, Dean?" he asked in a squeaky voice. Dean looked unseeingly in a random direction.

"So, you're planning to stay silent the whole hour?"

_Well, no, dumbass. I'm going to plan an escape route in the next five minutes._

As if reading his mind, the therapist nodded towards the door.

"I'm not going to stop you if you choose to leave. But, I heard that the person that brought you here- Sam, I believe- has been adamant on getting you this appointment."

The damn doctor had somehow found out what made him tick.

He was right, as much as Dean hated to admit it. Sam had been so upset to find that Dean had come out early from his first appointment and had lectured him the whole way to the bunker about how he'll find 'the right therapist for him' and to 'give it a try, for him.'

"What do you want? Do you want me to tell you I'm depressed?" he said.

"I want you to watch a short film with me."

He turned his laptop around and Dean watched the screen, unable to contain his curiosity.

"I had a black dog. His name was Depression."

_Pfft_, Dean said to himself. He couldn't help but think of a case involving a Black Dog, back when the brothers were kids. Back when _his_ brother looked at him like he was a superhero.

As the film progressed, Dean found out he had many symptoms in common with the stupid cartoon man. His sleeping cycle and appetite was, more often than not, messed up.

"I began to feel totally isolated from everything and everyone."

The screen showed a man and his black dog sailing in a stormy sea, waves overwhelming and scary.

Dean suddenly remembered standing in the hallway of the school of the month each move. There was always that first day of getting to know everybody, making jokes and acting tough but inside, he felt alone. So freaking alone.

"Eventually, I became quite good at self-medication," the narrator said, showing a man drinking and smoking, with the black dog sitting beside him.

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He sure was a leading example of self-medicating. Holding his breath, counting rhythmically and letting the whisky take away his memories, the pain, everything.

The animation ended, showing that everyone had a black dog and they just had to embrace the damn thing-depression-and acknowledge it. In turn, the dog's control over them wouldn't be as strong as before.

But he didn't say any of those things to the man looking eagerly at him, asking, "What did you understand about this film?" He zoned out as the doctor began waxing poetic and attempting to get him to 'understand' and 'acknowledge' his black dog.

* * *

When, after an hour Dean exited the room, with no blood on his hands, Sam released a deep breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

"So, how was it?" Sam asked, although the dark, thoughtful look on his brother's face should've been a pretty good clue.

"Bad."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Will you keep giving me only one-word answers?"

"No."

"So will you tell me what happened?"

Dean had to forcibly restrain himself from looking at Sam. He knew the puppy-eyed, pouting look that would be plastered on Sam's face. He knew Sam, the one who wore his heart on his sleeve, would want to talk through every detail of what was going on inside Dean's head.

But Dean didn't want to. He wanted to be alone, to have some time to sort through the thoughts that were running through him. Bury the memories and feelings that these stupid sessions brought deep inside the darkest part of his mind.

"Leave me alone, Sam."

"Dean, talk to me. Just let me know what's going on."

"No, Sam. Would you stop pestering me?

"If you don't want to talk about it, fine. But, at least, deal with your problems. You can't let it all build up. You'll be just like Dad."

"Sam..." Dean said in warning, and Sam knew he had crossed an invisible line, but he wasn't willing to let this go.

"You know I'm right."

"I _am_ dealing. If only you stop hovering over me and becoming another problem."

Sam took a startled breath and exhaled with a huff.

"Fine," he said and turned his back to Dean and started walking. "I'll come back later. Don't wait up."

Dean was left by himself in the silent car.

* * *

**A/N: It seems that Sammy is going to blow up soon. I apologize if you wanted to see Doctor Sparrow (*wink wink*) in here, but he might make another appearance later in the story.**

**Another thing, the video the doctor showed was an actual thing. Just google "I had a Black Dog, His Name was Depression" and watch the youtube link.**

**And last but not least, please tell me what you thought of this chapter. Reviews and suggestions are very much welcome. **


	21. Chapter 21: The Moon Glows

**Chapter 21: The Moon Glows**

**A/N: Hello, my amazing readers. I wish you're doing well. Prepare yourselves for some major angst! *laughs evilly***

**Special thanks and extra hugs to my wonderful betas, ****_fallingangelsandstars,_ _The-blackfirewolf_ and _KlainebowsHallowsRumbleroar._**

* * *

The cool interior of the bunker wasn't all that friendly, and Sam glanced around darkly. As he was pacing around, he passed Dean's room, and he saw the door was slightly ajar. Curiosity overwhelmed him, and, trying to be as quiet as he could, he snuck inside. Dean was in the bathroom, taking a shower, anyway. He wouldn't be able to hear his kid brother over the sound of the running water. Sam swung the door open a few more centimeters and quietly walked in.

The tapes were sitting neatly on the shelf, just as Sam last saw them. He knew he would be going behind Dean's back, but he just wanted to know why. Why was Dean in so deep? Why he couldn't let his demons go? So, with a lump in his throat and a strange pressure weighing down on his chest, he inspected the next tape guiltily, trying to reassure himself that it was okay. That this was for Dean's own benefit. Therapy wasn't working so far and it made Sam anxious.

Then, Sam realized he couldn't hear the sound of water running. He quickly pocketed the tape and darted out of the room.

* * *

Dean let the hot water pound over his head, trying not to let the past couple of days get to him.

He knew he'd been in there for too long, and it wouldn't be more than a couple of moments before the hot water ran out. He stepped out, toweling himself dry, and looked at the clothes that were hanging on the rack.

The stupid, _annoying_ dress pants were sticking to him as he attempted to put them on without looking in the mirror, scared of what he would see. He bit his lip, feeling like he was betraying some innate part of himself, and yanked them on roughly, frustrated.

The dress shirt had too many buttons. His fingers were shaking, and it took him twice as long to do them up as it normally would. He fought the urge to punch the wall, knowing it would only bring trouble, and too much of Sam's attention. The pain wouldn't be worth it.

The suit jacket, in comparison, was easier. He shrugged it on as he would his jacket, except this had none of the warmth and familiarity, none of the memories of family and home. It was cold, but the lining on the inside was soft. He tried to comfort himself that he would be able to turn around quite a few heads with this outfit but as expected, it all fell flat.

As he was turning around, his eyes caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Dean stared into the mirror, wishing he could look past it, past that annoying face. He just wished that he could somehow reach out and cause some damage to it… bash his head inside, blow his brains out. He didn't care how, he just wanted it to be done.

Before that damned day that Sam found the rest of his tapes and permanently stuck his nose in Dean's business, he'd been just _fine. _But now, all these thoughts, these _feelings, _resurfaced and he didn't know how to deal with them. Not with Sam watching him like a hawk. When he felt like this, he'd usually head out for a ride, preferably to the nearest bar or busy himself with work. However, Dean noticed his brother was a bit edgy and reluctant to let him out of his sight. Also, hunting was completely out of the question.

_Just freaking perfect._

* * *

"Dude, I got you some pie," Sam yelled while typing distractedly on his laptop. The damn dessert had been there for an hour straight and his brother hadn't as much as taken a glance at it.

"Not hungry," the reply came from the other side of the door.

"You sure you don't want to try out the medication? It could also help with your appetite, Dean," he tried, for the third time that day, hoping that Dean would relent. He was willing to try anything to get his big brother better. Hell, he was even tempted to go on meds to reassure Dean that it wasn't going to kill him, or whatever it seemed to scare him.

The idea of losing Dean had been haunting his dreams and Sam tried to pour all the worry into trying to get his brother back and fix him, once and for all.

"I'm sure." Sam could detect a note of impatience lingering in Dean's voice.

He stood there for a while, unable to rid himself of this strange sense of unease that had developed every time Dean was out of eyesight. When the door finally opened, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Dean fiddled absentmindedly with his sleeve. He had chosen to wear a white dress shirt and a suit jacket, and Sam couldn't resist raising his hopes. Maybe the therapy was helping. Maybe Dean was truly getting better. He'd rarely seen his brother make an effort to dress up for anything, unless he was getting laid, or it was required for a case, but it was a great sign, right?

"Your hair seems shorter," he observed.

"Yeah, just a quick haircut," Dean replied, his hand self-consciously rubbing the back of his neck.

"Did you gel your hair?" he asked in wonder.

"Yeah."

"You hate gelling your hair," Sam said, visibly confused.

Dean shrugged. "Guess I felt like it." He kept walking, gaze trailing over the ground.

"Dude, wait," Sam called out, and Dean turned around, gulping visibly, eyes distant.

"Let me fix it for you," he said and helped Dean with the cufflinks and then the tie. He couldn't wipe the grin off his face.

* * *

_Sam's smiling. _The thought echoed through Dean's head, and while he felt some small measure of relief, he couldn't focus on anything except the constant, pounding ache in his head.

"Are you ready to go?" Sam asked.

_What would you do if I said no, Sammy?_

"Sure," the corner of Dean's mouth turned up and Sam was so caught up that he didn't realize Dean's face had quickly been wiped clean of any expression.

"Where are we going?" Dean asked, already knowing the answer in Sam's look.

_Don't make me do this, Sammy. Please._

* * *

Sam cleared his throat and instantly went into business mode.

"There's this therapist specializing in traumatic events that I heard is quite good. I thought it would be a good idea if you went and saw him," Sam said, risking a look sideways to gauge Dean's reaction. He hoped that he wouldn't be forced to drag Dean there. Because he would drag him, if push came to shove. And he knew full well how stubborn Dean could be when he wanted. But, the older one just shrugged, leaning his head against the window and closing his eyes, his legs curled up as if he wanted to make himself smaller.

Sam ran his fingers through his hair distractedly. Something seemed wrong in the situation. He was used to fighting with all his might to get something, especially if it was related to talking about feelings, and Dean just giving in was not something he was used to. He ran over the events of the last few days the entire way there, and not even the rumble of the Impala's engine could comfort him the way it usually did. He was almost relieved when they pulled up in front of the building, and Dean climbed out, walking almost robotically into the clinic.

They were seated in a weirdly similar waiting area, with the same annoying cups of instant coffee and some sweets placed in a bowl on a coffee table. The chairs were straight-backed and uncomfortable, and Sam wasn't looking forward to the expectant hour he'd spend alone with his thoughts. Soon his brother's name was called, and Sam watched as Dean walked in, shoulders slumped and posture closed. He looked tired, Sam noted, but anyone in his position would be, he reasoned, trying to convince himself.

He shuffled through the pages he'd copied from the websites about 'how to talk someone out of suicide' and tried to go through them, ignoring the similarities the guy had with his brother's desperate cries recorded on tape. He flinched when he remembered all the rude interruptions, his voice piercing through Dean's memories, his most private moments. And the way he would completely ignore Dean's emotions, under the belief that his brother would be there forever, would always be the strong one. Dean was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and Sam felt like an added burden, just one more person to fail Dean.

* * *

"So, Mr. Anderson, I wonder if you could fill out this form for me?" the annoying doctor of the day asked. Dean grabbed the offered paper and pen silently and glanced at the questions.

1. My future seems hopeless.

_Not at All._

His future was hunting… then some more hunting... hoping to not make it past his thirties.

4. I feel guilty and deserve to be punished.

_Not at All._

His forearm itched suddenly, and he rubbed the place distractedly.

15. I wonder HOW I could commit suicide.

_Not At All._

The sleepless nights spent planning… convincing himself to stop, because of Sammy, and trying to ignore the other voice to do it, because then Sammy could be free of him.

_He'll have his freedom. I won't weigh him down anymore. His life would be so much better if I was gone. It's too hard to do this anymore._

_Why should I?_

16. I feel empty - more dead than alive.

_Not at All._

The fire… Dad dying when he should've… getting rescued from hell after all the shit he'd done. Hell, even Famine had seen it. He was just pure crap and guilt. He didn't know how he kept on functioning.

He filled out the rest of it accordingly.

"There you go, doc," he said and watched as the man took notes and began to question him. This time, he talked. He didn't say anything important, nothing that the therapist would remember. He talked, aimlessly, just to give the doctor something to write down, to make Sam feel this visit was worthwhile. He put on the happy-go-lucky front. Because of Sam.

* * *

The wait in the reception office was driving Sam crazy. Not only was the chair he was sitting on beyond uncomfortable, the stares, all the judgmental looks he received from other patients were driving him insane. He knew it was mostly, if not all, in his own mind, but he was fidgety and Sam couldn't help but trying to analyze the rest of the small group waiting for their appointment. In particular, there was a duo of two middle-aged women, sitting painfully close to Sam, close enough that he could hear every word of their conversation. The proximity was practically gnawing on his nerves. Sam couldn't help but overhear as their discussion grew louder, complete with hand gestures.

"He sure looks dreamy. Green eyes, and those freckles," the blonde one sighed.

"Ooh, someone's got a crush," her friend nudged her shoulder.

"Shut up," the woman giggled like a schoolgirl, "like you don't want to go and just squeeze his round..." Her friend covered her mouth quickly.

"Nah, I've got enough mental troubles already. No need to add a suicidal boy toy to it."

"What are you talking about?" the other one asked, dubious.

"It's obvious, silly. Use your inner shrink. Who dresses up for a doctor's appointment?"

"Maybe he wants to impress the doctor. You know, like _impress _the doctor," she reasoned.

"Come on, dear. The man was straight as an arrow," the other one huffed.

"Straight as an arrow, my ass," the one closest to Sam replied.

"Maybe he does it to hide up the pain inside him?" her friend suggested.

"That's more plausible. Poor thing," she sighed in sympathy.

"I wonder if he's been through the ringer, 'cause he sure as hell shows the signs of someone who has issues."

Oh. _Oh. _Sam knew who they were talking head was spinning, and his mouth was dry. The book he held in his hand was growing heavier with each passing minute. He needed a timeout… he needed to drive, Sam realized with a jolt of surprise. The Impala felt like home and safety to him, ready to embrace the younger Winchester with open arms and keep him from drowning in his own dark thoughts.

Sam fiddled with the zipper of his jacket, self-consciously patting his pockets. He informed the receptionist of his departure, before exiting through the door.

The sunlight glinted off the Impala. Sam walked briskly over, listening to the creak of the door as he forced it open. She needed maintenance, he noted with a frown. It was unlike Dean to ignore something wrong with his Baby. Truth be told, everything that had happened recently was so unlike Dean that he couldn't wrap his head around it. Sam wondered when he had lost touch with his brother. He wanted to be there for Dean, but he didn't know what was bothering him anymore. Dean had closed himself off once Sam had found out about his depression, and Sam didn't want that. He'd never intended that to happen.

Sam was disappointed to realize this drive wasn't having the relaxing effect he had hoped it would have. He glanced at his clock and sighed. There was still twenty minutes until Dean's appointment was finished, so he decided to head back to the clinic, though he wanted nothing more than to go back to the bunker. He needed to clear his mind, and he wanted nothing more than to burrow under the blankets and sleep till everything was okay again.

* * *

Dean took a deep breath and plastered a smile on his face as he exited the psychiatrist's office. He approached the receptionist's desk to pay, all the while his eyes searching for his brother. Sam looked tired and his eyes were bloodshot, Dean observed guiltily.

"How was it?" Sam asked, once they were out.

"Okay," he said vaguely, not waiting for Sam's demand for more elaboration, he quickly added. "Mind if I drive?"

Sam looked at him in surprise and seeming to internally battle with himself, handed the keys.

Dean drove silently for a while, letting the noise of the engine take away his worries. However, after a while, the silence made him uneasy and his hand fiddled with the buttons on the radio and hit play. He really needed a good beat and some heartfelt lyrics to chase away the dark clouds of gloom.

What he wasn't expecting was Sam's sharp intake of breath and his own voice coming from the speakers.

"_I don't know what to do without Sammy. Living with Lisa is... okay, I guess. But my brother's in Hell and all I'm thinking is, I should be there instead."_

* * *

**A/N: I hope you haven't gotten bored with this story. I know the pace has somehow gotten slower, and it's all intentional. Hope you liked this chapter. Don't forget to write me a line or two (or maybe three) on how this chapter was.**


	22. Chapter 22: The River Flows

**Chapter 22: The River Flows**

**A/N: Big hugs to _KlainebowsHallowsRumbleroar_ whose writing her own fabulous story, "Ghosts and Girls" (you should check it out, it's awesome) and _fallingangelsandstars,_ who basically co-wrote this chapter with me.**

* * *

"_I don't know what to do without Sammy. Living with Lisa is... okay, I guess. But my brother's in Hell and all I'm thinking is, I should be there instead."_

Dean couldn't process this. His mind whirred and skipped and he felt like his heart had stopped. He looked around frantically, his hands fumbled to turn off the radio. Sam beat him to it, silencing the radio with a loud click. For a brief moment their hands touch and both retract them as if they can't bear the thought of the simple act. It seems as if it's violating something valuable. Dean's gaze fell to Sam, and he knew the guilt and sadness that inhabited every line of his brother's body, and the apology that fell from his lips, half-formed, wouldn't help him. He knew that now.

No one could help him. Dean was alone. _Again_. He felt alone even in a crowded hallway, at the bunker. How was it possible to drown in a crowd of people and still feel alone? It just felt like there was this heavy _weight_ that he had to carry all by himself.

And it felt like he was adrift in a deep, endless ocean, and his once anchor had just been pulled away. And waves of betrayal and helplessness were pulling him under, and the light, that had been flickering for a while, was slowly disappearing as he sunk lower.  
But there was this spark of rage, almost like a reflex, that lit up inside him, and the anger replaced the deep sorrow. He felt furious. Angry enough to kill. Normally he'd direct that anger back at himself, so it wouldn't hurt anyone. However, everything was on overflow mode and even the simple act of breathing and the pounding in his chest hurt. Controlling his anger wasn't an option.

He could feel his heart speeding up, and he knew he needed to calm down, but he couldn't.

"What the hell, Sam?" His voice was cold, icy, a drastic contrast to the fiery hot he felt inside. He could see Sam wincing from the corner of his eye. _Dammit, Sam._

It took every ounce of control he had to step out of the Impala and onto the concrete. The sound that the door made as it slammed made gave him a minor sense of satisfaction, but it was quickly dispelled as Sam followed suit. Dean felt a headache coming up and sat down on the hood of his beloved car, daring Sam to do so. Sam, however, didn't relent and stood in front of him, trying to catch his wandering gaze. There was one moment where they stared at each other, face to face. The tension was beyond suffocating.

"Dean, I-"  
"Save it, Sam. What excuse do you have this time? Y-you promised..."  
"I was only trying to help."  
"Then stop. Whenever you try to help, you only end up making things worse. You know that!"

Sam visibly paled. Some part of Dean -the part that was basically programmed to forgive Sam everything- wanted to take the words back. However, he couldn't help selfishly hoping that maybe now Sam would understand how much it hurt, being betrayed. Because Dean had told Sam that it was okay, that everything would be alright, and now, after listening to _that _tape, Sam knew it wasn't. It probably would never be.

"Dean. I'm sorry," Sam whispered, low and quiet, and Dean could hear the tears in his voice.

"What do you want me to say? That it's okay? It could never be okay, Sam." He could feel the words, cutting and sharp in his mouth, aimed at the one person he thought he had trusted.

"Next time, just don't bother trying, Sam." He walked over, got back into the passenger side of the car, and Sam stepped away hesitantly. Dean knew he was in no state to be driving. He could see Sam crying, a little way off.

And his energy just seeped out of him, all the rage and anger that had fueled him leaving him in an instant. He felt like the loneliest, most hated person in existence and the heavy wave of disappointment crushed him, putting a burden of guilt on his lungs, squeezing until they gave out with a loud, choking sob.

The tears fell hot and heavy in his lap, and he wiped them away roughly, but they just kept coming. He rested his head against the dashboard, the cool leather another reminder of a home that he'd just pushed away. And suddenly he was shaking violently, vision blurring and raw, broken sobs racking his body. He couldn't breathe, every shallow gasp not enough and his throat was burning. He heard Sam open the door roughly, and could see the vague outlines of the tear tracks on his face.

He felt weak, _so _weak, for acting like this. Crying was a pitiful action. Crying in front of an audience, crying in front of _Sammy _was basically a sin. It went against his every instinct.

From a distant part of his mind, he could make out some jumbled words. Sam was talking to him, nonsensical sentences, but his voice was calm. Dean tried to focus on that, tried so hard to focus on breathing, but it was all too much. He was drowning and never wanted to resurface.

So he cried, cried until the tears stopped and all that was left was Sam's voice and the sound of his ragged, choking gasps and dry sobs. And when he finally stopped, sniffling miserably, he could feel the exhaustion and weariness. Everything hurt so bad. He just wanted _out._ So he laid his head back, and tuning out Sam's worried inquiries, closed his eyes.

* * *

When Dean woke up, he was lying on his bed. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket and shoes, but that was the least of his problems. He groaned, the beginning of a terrible headache making itself evident, and something didn't make sense. He'd fallen asleep in the Impala. Where was he now?

He opened his eyes gingerly, and took in the familiar surroundings of his room. The tape had been put back on the shelf. That meant that Sam had managed to get them home. Dean could feel a faint stirring of anger at the memory of the tape, and he swung his feet onto the floor, walking over to his wardrobe. These clothes were irritating, and he wanted his jeans and jacket back. He needed the comforting fabric and familiar scent to soothe his aching soul. He went through his closet like an angry hurricane, throwing clothes everywhere until he found his favorite pieces of clothing.

Once he was dressed, he walked out into the corridor, and straight into Sam.

"Hey," Sam said, and Dean could see a faint redness to his eyes, the only evidence yesterday had happened. He ran a hand through his spiked hair. He knew he looked even worse than Sam, who looked bedraggled. Sam opened his mouth, as if to say something, but Dean cut him off.

"It's still not okay, Sam."

"I know. I'm sorry. I just wanted to help"

"Don't," came the curt reply.

"Let's talk it out, man, please?"

His brother smirked disbelieving, but Sam wouldn't, _couldn't, _give up.

"I was worried. It was for your own good," he tried to reason, but was quickly silenced by his brother's murderous glare.

"F-for _my _own good?" Dean roared. He let his hand rise, clenched so tightly his knuckles were whitening, looking like he was about to punch Sam. Sam closed his eyes, resigned and accepting. However, he couldn't bear to see the black hatred and disappointment that colored his brother's eyes.

_Go ahead, do it. _

But, the resounding blow and the crushing impact never happened. Sam opened his eyes to find his brother a further distance away, panting heavily and face flushed, and Sam knew he was trying to restrain himself from lashing out. Sam winced in sympathy at the pained expression etched on Dean's features.

"I need a t-timeout. Don't talk to me for a while."

Sam opened his mouth but Dean pressed a finger to his lips, begging for silence.

"Just don't, okay?"  
With that, he stepped back into his room, and the door slammed behind him, vibrating both brothers to their very core.

* * *

**A/N: Sadly I have to inform that this story is about to end in a couple of chapters. So... yeah.  
**


	23. Chapter 23: The World Revives

**Chapter 23: The World Revives**

**A/N: Big hugs to _KlainebowsHallowsRumbleroar_ and _fallingangelsandstars_, for having the patient of Castiel with me.**

* * *

Sam broke the eggs, almost on autopilot. He bitterly remembered that barely two weeks ago, he was making pancakes with Dean. It now seemed surreal and felt like a lifetime ago. The lack of _Dean _in the room was noticeably heavy on his heart. The silence was forcing him to dwell on the events that happened the day before.

Sam regretted taking the tape. He regretted it more than anything. Listening to Dean's secret confessions, uttering the words on how much he hurt when Sam was supposedly in the Cage, was eating him alive. It had only brought pain, and hurt. And the look in Dean's eyes when he'd told him to stay away had only been steely determination and raw grief, tinged with betrayal. That had torn his soul apart.

_It could never be okay, Sam._

His expression softened, changing to one of sadness, and Sam's heart broke anew.

_Don't talk to me for a while._

Another rejection, another person to push Sam away. He was never good enough. And now Dean thought so too.

_Next time, just don't bother trying, Sam."_

That had been it. It was the final crack in Sam's already fragile state. For Dean to say something so callous, to wish Sam to stop caring for him and discard his attempts to make things better between them was the last thing Sam could take.

_Whenever you try to help, you only end up making things worse. You know that!_

_I know, Dean. I know. Just stop. Please stop, Dean. Stop._

The Dean in his head sneered, driving on, the look in his eyes malicious. And Sam felt his head start to pound. He needed something to focus on. Reflecting on Dean's words wasn't healthy.

Sam hadn't slept, after Dean's appointment and the events afterward. He was tired, so unbelievably tired, yet his conscience wouldn't let him sleep. It didn't feel right. Everything had gone wrong, as it always did with him. And everything had spiraled out of control, and Sam had watched helplessly as everything Dean had been keeping inside spilled out.

He couldn't blame Dean for hating him. He had taken it all, silent, and it was another scar, another wound, except this was more painful than all the others.

He didn't know how to make it right.

He flipped the pancakes, hoping it would be seen as a peace offering he meant it to be. He went on for about fifteen minutes, just adding the batter to the pan, making a huge stack. The torrent of thought kept flooding inside his head, along with the sizzling of the battle between pancake and pan.

Sam knew that he deserved the pain and heartache overwhelming all his senses. He even deserved worse. Sam ruined everything he touched, it was an established fact by now. He couldn't stop hurting his big brother and he discarded plans on making amends to Dean. Dean would come to him when he felt ready. Sam just wasn't sure how long it would be.

From now on, everything should be according to Dean.

He thought, glaring at the pancakes he made. How would Dean react? He must be really hungry since he barely ate these past days, no thanks to Sam. Would Dean forgive him? Would they go back to normal...well, _their _kind of normal?

In one swift motion, Sam threw the entire plate of pancakes away. He felt disgusted with himself. He had deluded himself into thinking, again and again, that Dean would get over it. And he wouldn't.

* * *

Dean was basically sulking. He knew that although didn't want to admit it to himself.

_No….just no…..I needed you, Sam. Dammit and you… you weren't there. No amount of being there and giving advice now is going to fix that._

"Hello, Dean." A voice caught him off guard and he rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"Hey there," he greeted, turning towards the angel.

The newcomer tilted his head and stated, "You appear to be upset. What seems to be wrong?"

"You wouldn't get it, Cas. Just go away," Dean put his head in his hands. He really didn't want to have a discussion at the moment.

"Is this about the sessions your brother is taking you?" the angel asked with raised eyebrows and made a motion for Dean to scoot over.

"No," Dean answered guiltily.

"How does talking to an unfamiliar human help you?" Castiel questioned.

"It's supposed to help by letting out your thoughts and emotions," he answered, frustrated.

"However it didn't help you, correct?" Cas asked gently.

"Yeah, not so much," the other scoffed.

"So, talking doesn't help you?"

"Well, I didn't talk much."

"Much?"

"Okay! I didn't talk at all, satisfied?" the green-eyed man clarified angrily.

"I don't understand," Castiel bellowed, confused.

"Surprise, surprise!"

"Dean," the angel warned.

"Sorry," Dean whispered, and Castiel's expression softened.

"You don't think you should be happy?"

"Happy is a bit of a weird choice of words, Cas. Especially considering that all my relatives and most of our friends are six feet under or vaporized into thin air." the Winchester stated, his voice smothered in regrets and sadness.

"Well, you could let go of all the guilt so you could finally feel content."

"See, Cas," Dean sighed, "I don't know how to do that."

"I don't believe not talking to your brother would be the cure for that," Cas said and with that he disappeared.

* * *

Sam was surprised to find Dean standing by his room's door, awkwardly shuffling. He put the book he was reading down and asked, confused.

"Is there something you wanted?" He hoped that this was a sign for peace, after a full day of not talking. He was ready to grovel and beg for forgiveness if that's what it took to make Dean stop looking at him like he was a failure.

"Aren't we going?" Dean asked through gritted teeth, as if speaking hurt.

"Where?" Sam asked, dumbfounded. He _did _find them a case, something to get them out of the tense atmosphere back at home. But, he hadn't talked it out with Dean yet.

"To the clinic," his brother replied, subconsciously toying with door handle.

Sam had to admit, going to four different therapy sessions in the last eleven days wasn't the easiest thing to do, especially for someone like his brother. He was dying to ask what happened in those one-hour sessions.

"Huh?" he exclaimed, surprised.

"Don't make me say it twice," his brother told in frustration.

* * *

"So tell me Dean…" the therapist frowned at the page in front of her, trying to spell out the name.

"Hummel," Dean provided.

"That's an interesting last name," she remarked.

"What can I say? My family all had rosy cheeks," he quipped.

"Mind telling me why are you here?" the doctor asked patiently.

Dean snorted. "Yeah, my brother wouldn't leave me alone until I came."

"You know I'm here to help you."

And with that, Dean snapped and he resisted the urge to jump out of his seat.

"You don't know anything. Don't you _dare-_"

"Well, tell me."

The simple request strangely brought a rush of tears to his eyes, and Dean stayed silent, angrily willing them away.

"We are all used to being sad and tired now and again. Depression is different. It can be a profoundly disabling condition that leaves those affected and those who care for them feeling frightened and isolated."

"I'm not depressed. I don't feel any of those things," Dean lied, but he couldn't shake off the feeling that maybe… just maybe… he was trying to convince himself as well.

"Maybe now you've grown numb to it, but I can tell that you've been through some traumatic events. You may have experienced it, though… perhaps in childhood or early teenage years? There may be this feeling of all colour draining away from your life. Like you felt so..." she searched for the right word.

_Cold, dead, grey_

"Cold and lifeless. Well, you're not alone in this," she paused, waiting for Dean to speak and sighed when he didn't respond other than a low grunt.

"Dean, I can tell you're a nice young man. Whatever it is, you don't have to carry this alone. Let it go." Dean risked a glance up and was met by the most compassionate eyes he'd seen for a while.

"I can't," he mouthed.

"Are you afraid?" she more or less demanded to know.

_Never be afraid, boy. Fear is going to get you and everyone around you killed._

Dean shook his head, feeling his entire body tremble.

"Dean, maybe it's time to think about taking some steps to look after yourself," she said, not unkindly.

_Watch out for Sammy. Don't let Sammy get hurt, again._

"Would you like to talk to me about the little mark on your arm?" the therapist pointed to the direction of the burn and Dean took a startled breath. He was caught.

He was done.

The older Winchester opened his mouth, trying to put it all in words, cursing himself for not bringing his tapes and let the woman listen to them. But then, by some miracle, his eyes fell on the clock set on the table separating them.

"Time's up," he croaked, rising from the seat. He didn't see the woman's outstretched hand, trying to steady him. He just escaped.

He didn't say a word to Sam and his brother for once was wise enough not to ask, just allowed Dean to choose the music and lean his head back on the headrest, trying not to break.

* * *

**A/N: It seems that they're getting somewhere, right? I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Reviews are very much appreciated and make my day so much brighter. I need that right now with my current mind space.**


	24. Chapter 24: Colors Renew

**Chapter 24: Colors Renew**

**A/N: Hey guys, so here's chapter 24. I owe the way it turned out to amazing _KlainebowsHallowsRumbleroar _for co-writing this story with me. I was in the brink of another block and she sat through my *almost insane* brainstorming and helped me put together this chapter.**

* * *

Sam couldn't sleep.

Well, that wasn't anything new, since the younger brother was normally up worrying about everything from when his Dad was coming home as a kid to the ways to stop the apocalypse a few years ago. One thing Sam wasn't used to was pondering over whether or not his brother was going to be safe- from himself.

It was a week since their last argument, and Dean didn't seem to be getting any better. In fact, it appeared like he had regressed. In most of the cases Sam had found online, people with depression would often get a little bit better, and then they would take a violent downturn. So now, at seven a.m., Sam Winchester was up on his computer in the kitchen, distractedly chewing on an apple and desperately searching for ways to help his brother.

The sun was rising, and Sam was so absorbed in his work that he didn't notice a presence entering the room. Dean leaned against the doorway, already dressed and clean shaven. He was dressed in his normal attire of a t-shirt, plaid button down shirt, and jeans. It would be a relief to Sam, when he noticed eventually. It was unsettling to see his brother dressed in formal attire outside of undercover work, and he was glad _that _phasewas over.

The green-eyed man cleared his throat and said, "So, um, what time is the appointment today?"

Sam nearly fell of his chair in surprise, causing his big brother to laugh. It wasn't just Dean's voice startling him out of a stupor; he was shocked that his brother wanted to go back. The older man had put up such a fight about each and every therapist. Indeed, it looked like Dean had even shocked himself a little.

"About an hour," Sam said gently, after taking a glance at the clock in front of him. "So I was thinking that we could get on the road in thirty minutes."

His brother turned to the counter to grab a protein bar. He was carrying himself differently: his back was a little straighter, his feet weren't shuffling across the linoleum floor. What had caused this change?

The boys sat in silence, with Sam on his laptop and Dean drifting off. Half an hour had passed when Sam spoke up, "Ready to go?"

Dean stood up, "I'm going to go by myself this time."

The other man narrowed his eyes. Was there something going on? First, his brother actually _wanted_ to go to therapy, then he wants to go by himself? Was Dean going to skip? Sam didn't think that his brother would blatantly lie to him, but he had been acting different all morning.

The older Winchester seemingly picked up on his little brother's suspicions and clarified, "Don't worry, I'm really going to go see that shrink. I just… need some time to think."

Sam had to admit, he couldn't deny his brother that.

* * *

At first it was the sound of a familiar wheezing of static as he pushed the tape in its slot.

"_Hey Lisa, this one is for you. I dug up this little thing about a month after I crashed at your place, and I've been staring at it for so long, it's starting to get on my nerves. I almost wanted to destroy it, or put it back where it was. But, this is my last shred...my last link with what I've been. That all that stuff really happened. Because, Lisa, it drives me crazy. I'm almost itching and dead terrified for something to happen. Something to hunt."_

Dean listened to the sound of his voice idly, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

"_You're great, you really are. And Ben? He's the kid I always wanted, but never dreamed that I would have. I like being here with you guys and not have to worry about the apocalypse or anything. And having a home… the last one I had burned down in a fire that cold November night. This is the first real time I've had a home since I was four, and it's pretty nice. But Lisa, I can't breathe."_

As if to prove his point, the current man's breath caught in his throat, and he cleared his throat with a cough that echoed in the Impala.

" _I don't know what to do without Sammy. Living with you, Lisa, is... okay, I guess. But my brother's in Hell and all I'm thinking is, I should be there instead. All my life it was get on the road and look after Sammy, watch out for Sammy, take care of Sammy. He was my whole purpose and…"_

The present-day Winchester listened to his younger self sniffle a little, before getting a hold of himself.

"_Damnit Lisa, I let him go! I let my baby brother fall into the pit with Lucifer. What kind of a person does that make me? Now while I'm trying to lead a normal life, he's getting ripped into by the devil himself! I feel like I failed him, and I can't take any more guilt."_

Dean heard his voice break and swallowed past a huge lump in his throat.

"_You've been so good with trying to understand, but the truth is, you can't. You don't know what it feels like to throw the one thing in the world that matters to you straight into Hell. You don't know what it feels like when he tells you to get on with your life and get a family. _You don't know what it fucking feels like _to lose everything that you once thought made you who you are."_

Dean hummed in sad agreement to the voice he heard. The time when Sammy was… gone, it felt horrible. Not having his brother constantly nearby was one of the worst experiences of his life.

"_I'm so thankful for you and Ben. Yet… I miss riding around in the Impala. I miss hunting. I miss staying in shitty motels, where sometimes I saw rats and dirt caked onto the walls. I miss interrogating witnesses. I even miss Cas, the dork that he is. And dammit, I miss doing something to _help _people and make a difference. You know, be useful for a change, instead of wasting space and oxygen."_

The Winchester's eyes watered briefly, before he pushed the tears away. He remembered these feelings that he had smothered deep into himself, and reliving them didn't feel fantastic.

"_You can't possibly imagine what you did for me. What you saved me from. I was a mess for weeks when you took me in. Cold and shivering, never saying a word. And you just held me. And after a week of drinking and having meaningless sex, I just broke down. I couldn't stop crying. It felt like tears were...they wouldn't stop, Lisa. No matter what I did. And you got me through it. But, the truth is… maybe I don't want, don't_ deserve_, to be saved."_

Dean turned off the radio with an angry click and continued driving in silence.

* * *

"Hello, Dean. It's nice to see you again. I can't say that I expected to meet you again so soon," the therapist got up to shake Dean's hand and motioned for him to sit down.

"Well, I didn't think you might get attached to me this early on," Dean winked, trying to flirt and maybe to lighten up the mood. However, the woman shook her head in amusement and said nothing.

"So, how are you feeling today, Dean?"

"Tired, I think," Dean said, attempting to be honest for the first time since he started therapy.

"Are you normally tired or was it because of our session today?"

"Lady, tired is basically my middle name. My job -well, my brother's job too- does have some weird working hours. So sleep is kind of a luxury."

"And this job of yours…?"

"Not open to discussion," Dean said firmly.

"Alright then," she relented, "So, how do you feel about yourself, Dean? About finally going to therapy."

"The expression 'you are your own worst enemy' holds a lot of truth," he stated bitterly.

The therapist leaned forwards, "What exactly do you mean by that? Could you explain a bit more?"

The green-eyed man chuckled. He knew that it was this woman's job to pry and ask questions, but he couldn't let her in. It went against his every instinct, and he couldn't give in without a fight. Almost immediately, his attitude shifted, turning playful.

Dean grinned, "I don't know. Why don't you ask me again over a drink?"

The look the that the therapist shot him sent all his defenses out the window.

"I guess you probably realize that this is just a… facade?" the man said meekly, feeling exhausted as he sobered up instantly.

"It's the first lesson in Psychology 101," she said with a knowing smile.

"Why am I like this?" he whispered, talking more to himself than the therapist.

"The self-loathing?" the woman asked, and Dean nodded, ashamed.

"I could only make guesses, Dean. And I can't make accurate analysis if you don't give me information to work with here."

"Mom died in a fire when I was four. We've been moving around since then. I came damn near close to losing my brother during the job. Now my brother and I have settled in a house and that's when he started bugging me about therapy," Dean told briskly and raised his eyebrows in challenge. He wasn't going to give out any more information than was necessary.

"Well, answering your earlier question about self-loathing, there is an explanation you might relate to. Early in life, as the result of trauma, perhaps, you may have started to separate yourself from your feelings. You didn't have the guidance your emotions could provide toward your true self. You were sad, but people around you might have failed to comfort you, and so you stuffed the feelings and never knew why you had them in first place."

Dean shuffled uncomfortably in his seat, the words hitting too close to home.

"Eventually, you stopped listening to _your_ wants, _your _needs, _your _feelings. However, you had to figure out some kind of method for guiding your life. That's why you started to build a false identity to cover for your lack of inner knowledge. You turned to other people's opinions, feelings, desires, and needs."

The older Winchester contemplated this for a minute. It was, actually, pretty true. For as far back as he could remember, his only directive was to make sure his family and the innocent people were okay- but never himself. He tuned back to the therapist's voice.

"For example you thought, 'If my family members were happy, I could be happy'. Or, 'If my friends liked me, I liked me.'"

"I-I never had any friends," Dean said, his voice trembling as his mind went back to a pile of forgotten memories, long since shoved to the back of his mind.

He wanted to deny those words, to go back to the way he had been because at least hating himself was familiar territory and a hell of a lot easier. It had been with him for a long while, a weapon that kept him going.

"Dean," the therapist said with a kind voice, "you should stop blaming yourself. You're not able to do everything hundred percent right."

"But," Dean croaked out, "if I don't, people will get hurt or worse..."

_Towns will burn. The world will end. Literally._

"Expecting that much of yourself isn't going to help. If you constantly worry about doing the right thing, you're more likely to face anxiety and lack the concentration to do your job."

Dean looked at her skeptically. Worrying was like, the second nature to him. His disbelieving look didn't go unnoticed by the woman.

"Think of your mind as an empty jar. When you fill it with negativity and anxiety, it'll be like buzzing bees occupying all the jar, never leaving you alone and making it harder to concentrate on the task in hand."

Dean couldn't help but snort a little, thinking of when Cas went crazy and practically worshipped bees.

"You're doing an incredible job, Dean. You have a stable job, from what you've told me, that you're good at. You have a loving brother who dragged your stubborn ass to therapy."

Dean's heart clenched at the mention of Sam.

"So, what should I do? How do I stop?"

"Practice self-care, even when you don't want to. Pretend you deserve it, if that's what helps you do yourself on a healthy sleep schedule, pay attention to the foods that upset your stomach and stop eating them. It's essential to take care of your physical needs. And most importantly, call someone, or tell your brother when you realize you are isolating yourself. You can always call me for a chat."

The therapist held his gaze and Dean couldn't help but nod.

"So, for our next time, I want you to say 'stop' to those thoughts when they're crowding your head. Take a small note of them, list them all so we could talk about them later. You don't have to be perfect at it. Just give it your best shot. And remember, if you take one out of hundred, it's going to be ninety-nine; not zero."

* * *

Dean was so lost in thoughts, pondering over the stuff the therapist, _Sandra, _had said. He didn't realize as the car veered slightly to the other side of the lane. He would have paid more attention if Sammy was with him, nagging about keeping his eyes on the road.

He thought about his perfectionist tendencies and how to avoid self-loathing and ruining himself even more. He thought about maybe, after all this time, putting himself first. Dean felt selfish thinking about his needs, but he realized that his did matter. He had to take care of himself and stop trying to make everything perfect. Maybe breathing would get easier if he stopped hating his entire existence.

That glimmer of hope was what made Dean fail to turn on time and came face-first with a monstrous truck. With a loud crash, he slammed into the front windshield.

* * *

**A/N: Umm, guys? Lower the holy water, please. Let's talk this out calmly. I've started writing the next chapter. Now, I'm going to go hide. No hex bags, please. And don't sic your hellhounds at me. *offers cookies***


	25. Chapter 25: But I Know Blue, Lonely Blue

**Chapter 25: But I Know Blue, Lonely Blue**

**A/N: Hello, guys. I'm back with a brand new chapter that I'm hoping you'll enjoy. I have a few announcements to make, so I'm going to rant for a while.**

**Thank you amazing _KlainebowsHallowsRumbleroar_ and _fallingangelsandstars_ for helping me out with this chapter. You guys rock.**

**First of all _KlainebowsHallowsRumbleroar_ and I are starting to co-write on a few one-shots posted both on her and my pages. You can check them out on my favorite stories list and my profile. The names are "Sometimes Monsters Don't Have Claws" a Hurt!Sam, Hurt!Awesome!Dean, Abusive!John one shot, "So Familiar a Gleam" a fairytale case!fic and a Destiel fic called, "The Gay Bar Superstar". Hope to see you there.**

**Secondly, I'm going on a trip tomorrow, so the updates are going to be a bit... less often. Fair warning. *Psst you could check out my other stories***

**That's all I got to say for now. Let's see how's the mean cliffhanger going to get resolved?**

* * *

Sam felt his phone vibrating. His hand shot to his pocket, and he was disappointed to find the number didn't belong to Dean.

"Hello," the lady on the other side of the line said coolly, "Are you Sam Hummel?" Her tone was brisk and sharp. She sounded like someone who shouldn't be messed with.

"Yes, that's me," he answered tentatively. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. They had so many aliases, it was hard to keep track of them.

_What does she want?_

"I'm calling from the Saint Bartholomew's Hospital. It seems your brother, Dean, has been in a car accident."

And suddenly, everything seemed too bright, too vivid. Sam's head was spinning, but his mind snapped into action, completely on autopilot.

"Okay, I'm on my way," he said, voice as steady as he could manage. He knew that it was no use to press the speaker for more information on how his brother was doing. He had learned it the hard way.

Sam wasted no time in hot-wiring the nearest car (a blue hatchback. God, Dean would tease him mercilessly), too preoccupied to go find the keys. He was driving as quickly as he could to the hospital. He drove through red lights, and the grip of the tires on the road was precarious. His palms were slick with sweat and his head was pounding.

_No. Dean's okay. He's okay._

_He had to be._

It ran like a mantra through his head, but the value of the words lessened with every repetition. Soon, it was all he could do to keep his eyes on the road in front of him.

The bland, white front of the hospital was a relieving sight. He parked the car haphazardly, not really caring, and ran through the automatic doors almost blindly. He came to a halt in front of the reception desk.

"I'm Sam Hummel. My brother, he was admitted here. He was… he was in a car crash." Sam's mind wasn't working. He was glancing around, but couldn't remember a single detail.

The receptionist seemed to take ages to find the right paper, flipping through at least hundred sheets before handing him the one that confirmed that, yes, he was his next-of-kin, and he had permission to go and see Dean. She directed him to the room, and Sam took off running, not giving a damn about the curious stares and warning glances pointed at his way.

Sam couldn't catch his breath. He was scared, worried, and a deep-seated terror ran through his veins. His mind raced with fragmented, barely coherent thoughts. _Can't lose Dean. Can't, not now. Not like this._

_My fault. I should've gone with him._

He ran up several flights of stairs, through corridors that all looked identical, but he wasn't lost. His mind had taken note of this one thing at least.

A heady wave of relief washed over Sam when he found the room. He was almost ready to cry in comfort of reaching to his brother. He inhaled deeply, composing himself. He couldn't risk upsetting Dean.

Of course he'd been through this with both Dean and Dad way too many times. Not that it would be any getting used to the fact that a family member was in hospital bed.

When he walked into the room, the sight of Dean, pale, _too pale, _with several bruises and a wicked cut on his forehead, it was absolutely gut-wrenching. Even in his sleep, he was clutching his side tightly, knuckles white.

_No. No. No. Please be okay. Please. Don't leave me, Dean. What am I going to do?_

He sat in the chair next to Dean's bed, ignoring the discomfort, and focused on his brother's face. Dean's breathing was deep and even, but there was a massive bruise on his cheek, a mix of blue and purple and yellow that worked its way up beneath his eye. His eyelashes were resting on his cheek, and he looked so young.

_Too young. Please, Dean. Please be okay._

He heard the door swing open, the creak of the hinges deafening in the silence of the room. He whipped around sharply, and was on his feet before he could register the nurse walking in. Her bright, cheery smile shook a little, and Sam hadn't fully registered how close he'd gotten until she took a small step back. He backed off hurriedly, apologizing, and she waved him off.

"Can you tell me what happened? Is he okay?" Sam's voice cracked, and he saw her frown in sympathy.

"I'm here to check his vitals. The doctor should be round in a couple of minutes. He can give you a thorough report." Her smile was pasted back on, and she moved over to Dean's bedside.

She checked his pulse and a couple of other signs that Sam didn't register. Everything had blurred out since he was concentrating solely on Dean's breathing… He couldn't take his off his brother's face. Sam rubbed his eyes, and he knew he was tired. He shook it off when the sound of footsteps echoed behind him.

"Mr. Hummel?" a comforting word asked and Sam didn't have to turn around to register the man as the doctor. How long had he been standing there?

"Sam," he corrected automatically.

"Okay, Sam. Your brother got out of it with minimum damage. He only suffered some bruising and cuts to his face and chest, and a possible concussion. We're worried about his ribs and that concussion so we'd like to keep him overnight for observation, just to make sure he's okay. He is one lucky fellow."

The man's voice was warm and reassuring, and Sam felt his shoulders loosen slightly. He hadn't realized how tense he was until that moment. He settled to huff disbelievingly. He wouldn't use the word 'lucky' to describe his brother. The doctor smiled, trying to reassure him, no doubt. But Sam couldn't care less. He stared intently at Dean, almost as if he would disappear from his sight if he as much as blinked.

"But he'll be fine, right?"  
"He'll be right as rain in a couple of days." With that, the doctor moved to stand before Dean. To his credit, the doctor didn't dwell on Sam's silent treatment and settled to check Dean's vitals written on the chart.

"I need to wake him up to see if the blow to his head didn't make any other organs suffer," he explained as he gently shook Dean's shoulder.

Sam watched his brother slowly open his eyes, his heart rate spiking up.

"It's okay, Dean," the doctor said in a soothing voice, "no need to worry, son. You were in an accident. You're in a hospital now."

"Sam?" Dean croaked and fell into a coughing fit.

"I'm right here, big brother," Sam spoke up, a huge lump forming in his throat.

The doctor was seemingly unaffected by the tension between the two and went on with asking questions and taking notes.

"Our Dean here doesn't seem to be having any major damage. He should be released first thing tomorrow," he concluded and with one final glance, left the brothers to their own conversation.

The brothers sat in awkward silence- the older playing with his thumbs and the younger staring out the window. Neither knew what to say to break the barrier.

"I thought you were getting better," Sam said quietly, almost too quietly to be heard.

"What do you mean? You heard the doctor. No major damage," Dean rasped.

"I don't mean _that,_"Sam spat, volume rising.

His brother's head snapped up. "Hold on," he said, temper rising fast, "You think that I crashed my car on purpose?"

Sam didn't say anything, his silence the confirmation he was looking for.

"You do, don't you!?" Dean said, anger taking place of the confusion,

"How could you? Am I not trustworthy? Do you think that I can't handle myself in everyday situations? I don't get it Sam, I really don't," Dean shook his head, wincing as the movement made him dizzy.

"That's not the problem, man. I trust you," Sam said, but at that moment he didn't believe it. Not completely, at least. The younger Winchester would gladly trust his life to Dean, but he didn't necessarily trust him with his own.

"Listen, I know that I've made mistakes, but I'm getting better! Quit looking at me like I'm a screw-up," Dean tried to reason, but Sam shook his head. He couldn't do it… couldn't do it anymore.

"You are a screw-up, but you're refusing to do anything about it."

"You know, Sam. I don't have to prove myself to you every freaking day. It's not like you're exactly innocent in that department."

_Do you mean that you don't trust me? That I haven't proved myself to you enough?_

"At least I'm not the one addicted to burning myself," Sam bellowed, his eyes watering, and he ran out of the room.

* * *

Dean put his face in his hands. That was harsh, and he knew it. But something in him just went off when Sam treated him like an invalid. He hated feeling weak, and Sam pointing out his insecurities made him feel fragile, scolded.

While he wouldn't admit that he had the healthiest mentality, everything he did was not because he was a nutcase. Dammit, Sam had been drilling that exact speech into his mind for the past weeks. 'He was _not _his illness.' Yet he goes and implies that Dean actually would intentionally put himself in a car crash. No way.

After panting hard for some minutes and holding his chest trying to wheeze out some air, the anger left him as soon as it appeared.

Guess he had to go apologize to the kid now.

Dean thought as he began shove himself up from his bed and went for a search for his brother. He didn't have to wander around for long, though.

Sam was at the end of the hallway, sitting against the wall with his head buried in his arms. _Jeez, did what I say really impact him this much? _The residual anger quickly faded into guilt. Dammit, he knew just how strong his little brother was. He was stuck in Hell with Lucifer, and was still able to pull himself together. It took a lot to break his baby brother.

The older Winchester contemplated turning around and going back to his bed. He didn't know if by coming over and saying something he would make matters worse. Suddenly, a dizzy spell came over him, and he stumbled into a wall.

Sam looked up from his position on the floor, brotherly instincts kicking in no matter how upset he was. He shook himself off from his pity party and quickly moved towards his brother, circling his arm around his waist and supporting most of his weight.

"Hey, Dean? Are you alright?"

"Peachy," Dean gasped out, still dazed, his head resting against Sam's arm.

"Okay. Let's get you back to your bed," Sam said with an eyeroll, leading Dean back to his room.

"You're an idiot. You know that, right?"

"Gotta take care of Sammy," his brother gasped.

Sam felt his heart break as he lead his injured brother back inside his bed.

"Better?" he asked once he could hear his brother's breathing even out as time passed.

"Yeah," Dean nodded.

The awkward silence was back again.

"I'm sorry," it was Dean who broke the silence, and Sam nodded his head, silently accepting the apology.

"I didn't mean for it..."

"I know," Sam agreed easily.

"I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I'm making you think that I'm… I'm unstable."

"I-I just want you to be alright, Dean. J-just want my brother back, you know?" Sam hung his head low, looking lost.

"I know, Sam." the younger Winchester sniffled quietly and he heard his brother sigh.

"Come here," Dean said, smiling sadly.

When Sam looked up, Dean had held his arms open in invitation. He looked at his brother in disbelief. When he was sure that the older hunter wasn't joking, he rushed to his side.

Dean had been the only constant thing in his life. The only thing that sometimes kept him going. He couldn't stand to let his big brother down. As Sam felt himself settle in that familiar embrace, the relief and the fear of weeks set free. He began crying big, ugly sobs. He tried to loosen his hold on Dean as he felt him gasp, ribs protesting.

"I-I thought the accident… yo-you wanted to ki-kill yourself."

"I know, kiddo. I'm sorry," Dean replied wistfully, rubbing a reassuring hand on his brother's back.

Sam just tightened his hold, tears still rolling down his cheek, making Dean's hospital gown wet.

"I'm not going anywhere, Sammy," he whispered, resting his head on top of Sam's.

* * *

The next morning after Dean was released from the hospital, Sam found him in the garage. He was stroking the hood and whispering sweet nothings and stroking it affectionately.

"I'm so sorry, Baby. I'll be more careful. Please don't be mad at me."

"Man, this is completely fucked up. Your relationship with your car is becoming unhealthy," Sam pointed out. Dean replied to him by sticking his tongue out.

"I brought beer," Sam announced, putting the cooler beside the collection of wrenches. Dean grunted in reply, preoccupied by assessing the damage the accident did to his car.

"At least let me help you out," the other said.

"Start banging out the hood," Dean instructed.

Sam wordlessly picked up a hammer and pounded out the hood- maybe a little _too_ hard.

"Sammy, forget all of this shit between us and focus on fixing the Impala, okay? If you as much as put a scratch on my Baby, I'm going to end you."

Sam paid more attention to be gentle.

The Impala was almost fixed in about two hours and the brothers were sweating heavily. The beer Sam brought looking more appealing by each passing second.

After a while, Dean allowed them a break so they could rest and relax a bit.

"I think it's done," Sam observed, sipping from the bottle.

"Yeah, I got this. You better go geek out or something."

"Are you sure? I don't want you to put any more pressure on your ribs."

"I'm just going to do some tuning, that's all."

"Dean?" Sam asked hesitantly.

"What do you want, Sam? And don't tell me you want another brotherly moment? I reached my limit with those."

Sam smiled ruefully as he put a cassette tape down on the bench next to the Impala.

"Just listen to this, okay?" he said before walking away.

Dean frowned. What was Sammy up to again? He swore the kid was like a puppy. He sighed and figured that the least he could do would be to listen to the tape.

He threw it in the Walkman and turned it. He was surprised to hear his brother's voice talking fondly.

"My brother is, like the best big brother, ever. I'd give the same answer whenever you asked me that. As a chubby, five year old kid, I always thought Dean was a superhero who chased away the bullies and brought me ice cream. He taught me to tie my shoes, ride a bike and yeah, how to date girls. Though never use the tips he says to a real girl. It's like...a disaster."

Dean let out a wet chuckle at that, taking a trip down the memory lane.

"And now, almost two decades later, Dean is...Dean is everything. Everything I have, I owe it to you, dude. You may not see yourself as a hero, but I do. The people we've saved see you as a hero. It's because you ARE a hero. A never honored hero, unfortunately, but still very much loved, " Sam said through the tape, his voice breaking.

"You're not a screw-up, Dean. All you do is out of love. So, while you're stubborn as a mule and so very annoying... I love you, Dean. We don't say it enough because of your whole, "No chick flick moment" rule, but I really do. And I hope that you can start loving yourself, too. I guess that's all I have to say for now. There will be more tapes like this, I promise, just to remind you how much loved you are."

Sam finished with a mischievous laugh. There was silence for a second, the only sound being Dean's labored breathing. Then, then he heard Cas's voice crackle, "I still don't understand why I have to speak to Dean through this box. What do you mean, he can hear me? Alright, Sam, I'll speak. No need to get squeaky.

"Dean, I first raised you from Hell on an order. Back then, I questioned nothing and simply followed the chain of command. You taught me to think for myself, to have 'free will', as you so put it. Together, we stopped the apocalypse and saved the world. You are not useless, Dean. You are the strongest man I know. The world would be a much darker, and crueler place. The world _needs_ you. Sam _needs_ you… I need you. You help to remind me that I'm not Heaven's little soldier, and that I can have thoughts and the occasional emotion that only you can bring it out. Please understand how amazing you are. I've never been more honored to watch you become a close friend to me," Cas said in a matter of fact tone, "Oh, I see a bee. I think..."

With that the tape clicked, alerting its end.

Dean was left with tears streaming down his face.

* * *

**A/N: Don't forget to review and leave your opinions/suggestions/speculations/feelings. They make my day and I grin like an idiot for a whole day or two ;)**


	26. Chapter 26: The Hand Gropes

**Chapter 26: The Hand Gropes**

**A/N: So, I'm back with a brand new chapter. I have no idea when I'm going to get to write the next one so.**

**This chapter is dedicated to mida_malek who succeeded to make me cry today and is an awesome person who deserves only the best. This is for you, hon.**

**Special thanks to my beta *cough cough savior* KlainebowsHallowsRumbleroar.**

* * *

Dean looked like he was ready to climb up the walls. He already made them breakfast and prepared the ingredients for lunch. But he was on edge, acting like a caged animal. Sam winced at how true that analysis was. That's the reason he approached Dean. Sam had allowed access to weapons that day and his brother was currently going through boxes after boxes of the Men of Letter's weapons and giving each of them a thoughtful swish before jotting down the information on a notebook. If that didn't raise all warning flags, Sam didn't know what would.

His brother was _bored._

The taller man cleared his throat, "So, get this. I found this in the newspaper about two days ago. Sixth mysterious deaths in a week. Apparently they were killed in the same bar. Now they say the bar is haunted."

"And why is that? Maybe it's a drunk fight gone wrong," Dean asked with a smirk.

"It's already spreading to different bars and the death are so violent the article called it almost 'unhuman'."

"Well that _does _sound kinda weird," Dean agreed.

"So, what do you say?"

"About what?"

"The case, man. It's not all that far from us. Do you feel up to it? If you're not it's fine. I just..." the younger Winchester rushed to say. He couldn't tell if his brother didn't really care, or if he didn't want to go on the case. Sam would never force him to do anything but… He knew that his brother needed to go somewhere other than therapy.

What if he made things worse? What if Dean wouldn't get out of the bunker? What if he's reluctant to go out now?

Dean finally looked up from the stock of weapons. His eyes were wide, as if concerned about his brother. _Ha, _Sam thought_, I'm the one who needs to be worried about you for once._

"Woah there, Sammy. Calm down, " he said placatingly, "I'm fine. We'll go. I swear, man, one more minute here and I'll either turn into a geek like you or a chick. Huh, they're actually not that different now that I think about it."

Dean snickered, dodging a smack to the head.

"Go get your stuff. We're leaving in five minutes," Sam grumbled under his breath.

* * *

"So we're keeping the bodies in this room," the autopsy technician said, leading the boys into the room.

Sam interrupted her, "I'm sorry, you never said what the cause of death was."

"Oh, my mistake, Agent Walsh. I assumed you knew," the woman seemed surprised, but she reached over and pulled out a body, charred black. "He was burned to death."

"Agent Walsh"'s eyes widened substantially, while his partner turned a little green.

"Uh, thanks. If you wouldn't mind leaving my partner and I with the body, that would be great," the taller man requested, flashing a smile at the autopsy technician for good measure.

The girl blushed and left the room.

"This was a mistake," he continued roughly.

"Huh?" Dean exclaimed distractedly, poking at a layer of burnt skin experimentally.

"I don't think we should be doing this," Sam said reluctantly.

"What? Check out the corpse? Man, now is not the time to get modest."

"I mean, we shouldn't be doing this case. We should head back and leave this job to someone else."

Comprehension flashed on Dean's face and his expression turned dark.

"We can't let any more people get hurt, Sam," Dean said solemnly.

The shaggy-haired Winchester did admit that his brother had a point- they couldn't let more people die.

"They don't look so peaceful. When I die, I want to look peaceful," Dean mumbled under his breath.

That didn't mean he had to like it.

* * *

"So the cop said that this happens same time every year, right? We should check out the dates, see if there's anything special about this week," Dean observed. They'd spent the afternoon interviewing the police and various regulars at each of the bars, so Dean was sprawled on his bed, exhausted, with Sam behind the desk, absorbed in his laptop.

"I think I found our suspect. Drunk driver has a car accident and kills Quinn Evans, Sheriff's girl," Sam read aloud.

"So the girl is a ghost haunting alcoholics?"

"Yeah, not likely. She was cremated."

"Any chance we could talk to the family members?" Dean asked.

"Mother is out of the picture. The sheriff had a heart attack a month after his daughter's death. He's also dead. Apparently, the drunk driver was the son of someone important and didn't get punished."

"So it seemed that Papa Sheriff had a bone to pick with alcoholics?"

"It seems so, seeing that all the deaths are regulars at the bar, people who are there every other day."

"Why fire though?" Dean wondered aloud.

Sam read through the article and clicked on few pages that popped up.

"The accident wasn't fatal... but her car caught on fire. It makes sense that he'd want to give them a taste of their own medicine."

"Then, let's go gank that son of a bitch," Dean leapt to his feet, excited and went through his duffle bag.

"Dude, where's my lighter?" he asked after a few minutes.

"I took it," Sam responded.

"How am I going to kill a ghost with nothing to light? Come on, Sammy. I'm not going to do anything stupid on the job."

Sam wavered.

"Give me some credit, man," he practically begged and Sam tossed him the lighter.

Guess he was just going to keep an eye on his brother tonight.

* * *

The Winchester brothers stood over the coffin of one Sheriff Finn Evans. Both boys were covered in dirt and sweat, which wasn't unusual for either of them. Dean basked in the glow of the moonlight, jacket discarded in the heat. It felt so freeing to be doing good and helping people- even if they were drunken bastards. Theoretically, he knew the burns could make him want to start hurting himself; actually, the man was a little tempted. But he felt stronger than that now, stronger than the urge to burn.

Dean watched his brother pour the gasoline onto the corpse and flicked up the tip of the lighter. Before he could drop it in, the ghost popped up in front of the grave and shoved Sam back twenty feet.

_Shit, I can hear the sizzling._

"Sammy!" Dean yelled, picking up the lighter and rushing off towards his brother. He was quickly stopped by Evans appearing in front of him, leering menacingly.

He was trying to figure out a way around the specter when it spoke, "I'll do it quick and painful. Isn't it the way you always wanted it?"

Dean froze on his spot.

"Don't tell me you think you don't deserve this?" the ghost sneered.

The man held his breath. He didn't deserve this, right? No, he didn't. But he was a terrible person… he would be lying if he said the lighter didn't look a little appealing at the moment.

His eyes took him to Sammy, writhing on the ground, looking at him pleadingly. That one look was what kept him alive. His resolve strengthened.

"Actually," Evans contemplated, "You're so pathetic that I might not even need to burn you. You might just do it yourself!"

Dean clenched his jaw, "I might be pathetic, but I think that you're going to be the one on fire." With that, the Winchester turned around and threw the lighter into the grave. He heard the shrieking behind him of the dissipating spirit, but he didn't need to look.

The man waited until the ghost was completely gone before he ran over to Sam.

"Hey, buddy. Let's take care of that burn, okay?"

"De-ean. I-I thought you'd… leave me."

"Leave you. Where would I leave you, Sam?"

"I thought you'd give up," Sam whispered brokenly.

"I would never leave you, kiddo," Dean whispered, hiding his tears in Sam's too long hair.

When it came to treating injury, burns especially, Dean always went with his gut instinct. He didn't need to read pages after pages of crappy research to figure out what to do. He knew which burns would need gauze, that he should try to cool it down first before anything. He'd gathered it all through trial and error… making mistakes over and over again until he got the perfect treatment.

He knew that Sam would feel so much pain, it would almost borderline on numbness, so it was vital to act quickly. And he knew that because once he tried to put out a cigarette on his own chest.

But, it didn't matter how Dean had gained that knowledge. The important task at hands was to patch up Sam.

"I'm going to be right back, okay Sammy?" the older Winchester raced off to his car and opened the trunk. Beneath all of the weapons, there was a secret stash of gauze bandages and ice packs.

Sam was still where his brother had left him, which wasn't a surprise. He seemed to be a little more coherent.

"Alright, kid, hold still. This is going to sting a little," Dean said gently.

His brother winced before asking, "Where'd y-you get-_oww_-all this stuff, Dean?"

The older brother avoided Sam's eyes, which was answer enough. Dean heard the kid sniffle a little bit, but whether it was from the revelation or the pain, he didn't know.

"You're doing okay, bro?"

"I'm a little bit..."

"Itchy?" Dean provided and Sam nodded, "it'll pass. Don't worry."

The younger brother hoarsely asked, "D'you wanna get up now?"

"Sure. Man, I'm starving! Want to go grab a burger?"

Dean helped his brother up, throwing his arm around the younger. He talked about how much he was craving a nice, juicy burger and not any of Sam's "rabbit food".

It was a good think that the older Winchester was paying attention to carrying them both. He didn't notice Sam's eyes well up with tears… and maybe hope that everything was going to be okay.

* * *

**A/N: Leave a review, please. There's only about three chapters left. So, any requests and suggestions are greatly appreciated. **


	27. Chapter 27: The Ear Hears

**Chapter 27: The Ear Hears**

**A/N: Special thanks and extra big hugs to KlainebowsHallowsRumbleroar for reading over this chapter.**

* * *

That week was spent peacefully. They ended their Sam-enforced vacation and finally started full-time hunting. Well, the Winchester-style peaceful, consisting of a zombie attack, a werewolf and most recently, a case including a witch that strangely resembled a fairytale.

Dean was assigned his third therapy with Sandra that day, and when he came back, he wasn't wearing that screw-them-all grin on his face.

"I'm going on meds," Dean announced, after accepting the bottle of beer from his brother.

"You're what?" Sam said, coughing and spluttering his drink out.

"Sandra thinks it's for the best. Apparently my symptoms are bad enough that they interfere with my daily life," he replied nonchalantly.

"And what do _you _think?" Sam asked, hoping that he didn't sound as shocked and suspicious as he felt.

Dean shrugged, his face turning a little more sad and melancholy. "Man, I'm just tired of this. I want to get better, I really do. But maybe I need a little help. You know, happy pills and stuff."

Sam's heart was fluttering in happiness. It felt like it was about to jump right out of his chest. This was Dean's way of admitting he needed help and that Sam had been right. However, that statement started another round of researching. Sam had never actually considered his brother as a pill taking type. But, he wasn't going to show his surprise to make Dean even more self-conscious about his illness than he already was. He tried to drag Dean to sit next to him while he researched as well. He tried to make his brother express his opinions, see what he really thought of the pills.

"Do you think the side effects will be worse than your symptoms?" he asked, completely engrossed in a website.

"Dude, I don't want to hear about the side effects."

"But, they _are _important."

"Sure," Dean muttered distractedly. Sam looked over his shoulder to get a peek at the screen.

"Dean, how many times do I have to tell you? Porn is not research," he groaned and closed the tab Dean has opened.

* * *

That afternoon, Sam made his decision and gave his blessing for Dean to try out medication. He'd insisted to be the one getting the prescription and was surprised once again when he met next to no resistance. When he asked the reason that Dean gave in so easily, he was met by a curt answer.

"I'm not going to the drugstore to get crazy pills, dude. No way."

"Dean," Sam sighed in frustration, wishing that he could somehow knock some sense into him.

"You don't need to be ashamed about taking antidepressants. Depression is a health problem, not a character flaw," Sam, seeing that his brother was about to cut him off, quickly added, "It's not even a sign of being weak, because you aren't. Getting help is really strong."

"Yeah, easy for you to say. You're not the one turning into a freak," Dean spat.

"The medicine won't change your personality," Sam said, rolling his eyes.

Dean just grunted, which meant that he didn't agree but didn't want to argue any more either. Sam shook his head at his brother's stubbornness and headed out of the bunker.

* * *

He entered to the bunker, a pack of pills in his hand and saw Dean was frowning at a piece of paper in his hand.

""Tough times are there so you can have a good time later on- and really appreciate it!""

_This is it._

"So, should we start this?" Sam said, trying not to sound as anxious as he felt.

"Dammit, Sammy. Don't make a big deal out of it. You're making me nervous."

"Okay," he mumbled back, but still continued to stare at Dean as he opened the bottle and took one small blue pill.

"Stop looking," his brother grunted in frustration.

In the end, Dean had to turn around and wash down the medicine with a glass of water, with his back to Sam. When he returned, Sam was pocketing the bottle and taking notes in his little notebook. One day, Sam was going to be a full-on therapist, with Dean as his guinea pig, Dean thought in horror.

"Come on, Sammy," he groaned.

"What?" Sam said distractedly, engrossed in his notebook.

"Hand me those damn pills."

"I-I'd feel more comfortable if I was the one who was in charge of them."

"Give me a damn break, Sam. I'm not going to do something stupid."

"Besides," Dean winked, "that stuff only gives you seizures if you overdose on them. Not a good way to go, little brother," he chuckled.

Sam hesitantly tossed the bottle, his brother catching it easily and giving an impromptu little victory dance right there and then.

"Dean?"

"What?"

"When you come to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on," Sam said, sticking his tongue out.

"Yeah, you wrote it on my toilet paper," Dean groaned but appreciated the change of subject nonetheless.

"There are more just lying around..." Sam chuckled mischievously.

"Dammit, Sammy."

* * *

On the seventh day of Dean starting medication, Sam was woken up by Dean thumping heavily in his room and groaning with his head in his hands. Sam yawned and rubbed his eyes open.

"Why aren't they working?" Dean sulked.

"It might take some time for them to take effect," he tried to reason and calm Dean down.

"Easy for you to say, Sammy. I can't calm down. I'm tired and my hands won't stop shaking."

_Oh, that was new._

"Your hands are shaking?" he asked in alarm.

"Yeah, it's nothing," he said, brushing it off. Sam made a mental note to write that down in his notebook, right next to 'nausea' and 'restlessness'.

* * *

It was day fifteen of Dean trying noticed a little more pep in his brother's step and he was surprised to catch him whistling happy songs under his breath. He was glad to see him being happy for what seemed like the first time in forever.

The younger Winchester had went back to researching a potential case when his brother spoke up.

"So, Sammy, you're getting old," Dean started.

The other brother looked up from his laptop in confusion.

"Your birthday is in three days…"

Sam blinked. "Oh yeah, that."

The older Winchester tilted his head. "What do you mean, 'that'? You're turning thirty! It's time to celebrate!"

"Dean, that's sweet, but I haven't actually celebrated my birthday in about seven years?"

"What happened in that seven years that was so terrible?"

"Let's see," Sam deadpanned, "On my twenty fourth birthday, _I_ died. On my twenty fifth birthday, _you_ died. A little before my twenty sixth birthday, I started the freaking apocalypse, so that wasn't the right time. I was being tortured by Lucifer for my twenty seventh. Hallucinating and trying to stop Cas for the twenty eighth birthday. And finally, I celebrated with Amelia for my first actual birthday party- but all the people I had really cared for were dead. I don't really have a good track record with birthdays."

"You know, little brother," Dean said, slinging an arm over Sam's shoulder,

"This time, I'll make it right."

Sam shrugged. He didn't doubt that his brother would try. However, he really couldn't find it in himself to get excited over something as trivial as his _birthday_. For crying out loud, the younger Winchester knew that there were way more important things going on than the day he was born. He was not a kid anymore.

Dean had seemed fine for the rest of the day, if not oddly cheery overall. It really looked like everything might be okay, like they might have a happily ever after of some kind. Unfortunately, nothing ever goes smoothly for the Winchesters. That was the first night Sam walked on his brother crying and moaning in his sleep.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry, I haven't had the time to answer your reviews, but it doesn't mean that I don't read them and squeal like crazy. So, review please!  
**


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